Felicity Stockwell and the Widow's Son
by G M Kearney
Summary: Assumes the existance of the magical world in America as well as in the United Kingdom.
1. Introduction

Author's Introduction  
  
In J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter novels it is suggested that the magical world which, she creates, exists in other areas of the world besides the United Kingdom.   
Here then is the story of Felicity Stockwell, a normal American girl with a family secret. It is a story of the magical world of J. K. Rowling invention as found in America. Within this story the reader will find references to the world of Harry Potter but in a uniquely American context expressing the American experience, history, culture and values.  
  
G. M. Kearney July 2003 


	2. Chapter One Felicity Stockwell's birthd...

Chapter One - Felicity Stockwell's birthday morning  
  
Felicity looked out the window at the steeple of the First Congregational Church across the street from her house. It was early June, and, as is the case in Rhode Island this time of year, fog had crept in from the bay and now lay like a thick woolly blanket over the roofs of Providence. The steeple of the old church disappeared into fog.  
  
"Great," thought Felicity, "the first day of summer vacation and my thirteenth birthday and it's wet and foggy."  
  
Felicity had been in a somewhat sour mood anyway upon learning that her mother and father had planned to leave for Cape Cod on Saturday. She would have to celebrate her birthday at her grandparents' "cottage" on the Cape, away from her friends. To make matters worse, there was nothing to do there.  
  
Felicity pulled on her clothes, in the process disturbing the slumber of her cat, Marx, who was making himself quite comfortable on her jeans, which had been dumped on the floor last night.  
  
Marx looked up at her and blinked his eyes before walking from the room.  
  
Felicity took one more look out the window as she brushed her hair. "Well, at least the fog is lifting; perhaps it won't be such a bad day after all," she thought.  
  
Felicity put down the brush and took a quick look at herself in the mirror. She was a slight girl, with dark red hair that fell to her shoulders. In her school's uniform she showed the beginnings of a figure, but dressed as she was today, in jeans and a University of Rhode Island sweatshirt, no one could see that. Satisfied with her appearance, she went down the stairs to breakfast.  
  
"Good morning," her mother's voice greeted her as she came into the kitchen. The Stockwell home was an old brownstone in the center of the city.  
  
The kitchen was small, with a table at one end looking out onto the equally small backyard. Felicity remembered that, as a small girl, she longed for a home outside the city with a big lawn. But this house was close to her father's work and there was a park nearby. As Felicity had grown older, she had come to appreciate living in the city.  
  
"There are some waffles for you on the table," her mother said, without turning from the aging waffle iron that always burned the first two you attempted to make in it. "And I set out the real maple syrup because it is your birthday. There are some cards on the table for you, too."  
  
Her mother turned from the waffle iron. Anne Stockwell was a handsome woman of 40 with dark red hair the same color as her daughter's. She was the music teacher at Felicity's school, St. Andrew's.  
  
"'Oh, and Roger Williams came by this morning and brought you this," she said, handing Felicity a small box and a card in a light-blue envelope.  
  
"What?" thought Felicity, ÔÔWhy in the world would Roger Williams be giving me a gift?"  
  
Her mother saw the puzzlement in her daughter's eyes. Smiling, and with a slight teasing in her voice, she replied, ÔÔYou know, he has always had a crush on you."  
  
Felicity felt her face get warm, and, being faired-skinned like her mother, she blushed easily.  
  
Felicity had known Roger for what seemed like forever. Roger was one year older than Felicity and had attended St. Andrew's with her until last year, when he had gone to Salem Academy in the mountains of Maine. Salem Academy was her father's old boarding school, and, since Felicity was an only child, it was expected that she would be attending there, as well, in the fall.  
  
She looked down at the box and the envelope with Roger's precise handwriting on it. The kids at school would sometimes tease Felicity about Roger, but, if the truth be told, she really didn't mind. Roger had been a good friend to her for as long as she could remember and having him at Salem comforted her about going to a strange school so far from home.  
  
Roger was sometimes strange himself. He had a talent for being able to disappear, seemingly at will. One minute he would be with you and the next he was nowhere to be seen. And there was that time in the fifth grade when Mary and Alison were teasing Felicity, bringing her almost to tears. Roger had told her to pay no attention to those ÔÔmuggles." He said it as if she should have known what he meant, which she didn't.  
  
She turned the card over and opened it. Inside was a card with a cat, Felicity's favorite animal, "purring" a birthday greeting. Beneath this were the words: "Happy Birthday, Felicity, I'll see you at school this fall. Roger."  
  
"What's in the box?" her mother asked.  
  
"Oh, the box," said Felicity, startled a bit.  
  
She opened the box from Roger. Inside, wrapped in paper, was a ball, about the size of a baseball but harder. In the same clear handwriting Roger had printed: "To Felicity, you will understand what this is later."  
  
"What a curious gift," thought Felicity to herself. "Roger is certainly living up to his odd reputation."  
  
Felicity turned the ball over in her hands. It had clearly been used quite a bit. Two rather noticeable holes were in either side.  
  
"It must be something from his school," said her mother, who had come over next to her and was examining the ball. "His mother said that he is on a team at school, you know."  
  
"Yes, that must be it," said Felicity, still studying the ball in her hands.  
  
"Well, you had better eat your breakfast. I have an errand for you to do this morning and there are some other cards on the table."  
  
Felicity sat down at the table and looked over the handful of cards that were before her. One from her school principal, which she, and every other student at St. Andrew's, received, without fail, every year on their birthdays. One from her Sunday school teacher at the church across the street. And one from Aunt Joan.  
  
Aunt Joan was her father's sister who had never married and lived in the old family home outside of Amherst. The place was a crazy collection of antiques and family mementoes dating back to before the Stockwell family came to America in the 1600s, at least that what Aunt Joan always told her. In addition to the endless collection of bric-a-brac that she kept, Aunt Joan also kept an owl as a pet.  
  
The small bird would sit in its cage, eyes closed, looking for all the world as if it were stuffed. Once, when Felicity had been visiting, she had poked at it with a short stick she had found among her aunt's belongings. The owl had only opened its eyes for a moment before returning to its customary state.  
  
If anything, Aunt Joan was even stranger than Roger.  
  
"You had better finish your breakfast; your father is expecting you." Her mother's voice broke Felicity's day-dreaming.  
  
"Expecting me?" Felicity asked while chewing on the now-cold waffle, sticky with the sweet syrup. "Expecting me where?"  
  
"At work," replied her mother.  
  
"But..." Felicity realized that she had never been to where her father worked. Martin Stockwell was a banker for some international banking firm downtown. To Felicity the work sounded dull and she had never had any interest in it.  
  
"I've never been to father's work," she continued. "I don't even know where it is."  
  
"Don't worry," her mother answered, "he said he would meet you at the bus station downtown. Now here's his lunch. If you hurry you can catch the bus in front of the church." Felicity finished what was left of her waffle and took her father's lunch.  
  
When she opened the front door at 23 Waybosset St., she could see that the sun had come out and the fog was all but gone. She crossed the street to the bus stop in front of the great old church with its iron fence.  
  
"How very strange," she thought to herself while standing at the bus stop. "I don't recall Father ever forgetting his lunch, or, for that matter, anything else."  
  
Martin Stockwell was a man of precise habits. Each morning he would wake early, well before the rest of the family. His work required it, as most of the bank's transactions were done with a group of banks in Europe. The time difference meant he had to be at work well before most of the other bankers in Providence.  
  
He would always walk or bicycle downtown. For, while the Stockwells owned a car, he seldom drove except on longer trips. Each afternoon he would return precisely at 4 p.m. He would walk into the kitchen; kiss his wife; kiss Felicity on the cheek; and go upstairs to change out of his conservative banker's clothing into a tweed sports coat and tie. Martin Stockwell always wore a tie. Felicity giggled as the thought of her father wearing a tie to bed crossed her mind.  
  
The bus rumbled to a stop in front of her and let out a long hiss as the doors swung open. 


	3. Chapter Two Felicity learns the family ...

Chapter Two - Felicity learns the family secret  
  
The bus pulled away from the curb as Felicity found a seat. She held the bag with her father's lunch on her lap and watched the streets of Providence drift by in the late morning sun.  
  
The bus passed St. Andrew's School, with its aging brick and fenced-in playground, standing next to St. Andrew's Church. Long rows of houses, each with a stoop leading out to the sidewalk, were occasionally broken by a small corner store selling milk, beer, and lottery tickets.  
  
The bus stopped here and there to take on or let off passengers, generally young people or older women carrying bags for shopping.  
  
It turned the corner and headed down the hill to the center of town and the city's waterfront; down Washington Street to Kennedy Plaza, where all the bus routes came together. The bus eased to a stop and Felicity stepped out onto the platform. She could see her father standing off to the side and reading a newspaper.  
  
Felicity walked over to him. As she did, he folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. Just for a moment, Felicity thought she saw the picture on the front page of the paper move, as if it were a movie.  
  
"Hello, pumpkin, " he said to her with a smile. Pumpkin was her father's pet name for her. It came from her hair color. While Felicity didn't mind it so much at home, here in the middle of the city it made her feel, well, funny.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry to call you that here," her father said, seeing her unease.  
  
"It's all right, Daddy. Here is your lunch. This is the first time I can remember that you have ever forgotten it."  
  
Martin Stockwell look down at his daughter and sighed. It seemed to him that it was only a moment ago that she had been a baby, and now look at her.  
  
"To tell you the truth," he confessed, "I didn't forget it at all. I just needed some reason to have you come down here for a birthday surprise."  
  
"A surprise?" blurted Felicity. For Martin Stockwell was not a man of surprises. On each of Felicity's previous birthdays, he had acted exactly the same. He had come home one hour early, had changed his clothes and, at supper, had presented Felicity with a gift. It had always been a book of some kind, usually a fantasy book.  
  
"What sort of surprise?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, it's a very big surprise," he said, smiling in a way that Felicity could not recall having seen before.  
  
They began walking down the street toward the banks that made up the center of the city. As they walked, her father asked her who had sent her cards. She told him about Aunt Joan's card and of Roger's unusual gift.  
  
Just then, they came to the front of a large office building. By now it was well into the noon hour and the street was filling up with people. Martin Stockwell reached into his suit-coat pocket and removed a stick about 12 inches long, which he proceeded to shake in the air twice.  
  
What happened next was indeed a surprise; the first of many that Felicity wo uld have that day. For, in an instant all of the people and traffic around them suddenly froze in place, leaving Felicity and her father the only ones who could move.  
  
Felicity's eyes grew wide with amazement; but before she could take in the sight, her father took her hand and stepped through the glass window in front of them.  
  
She gave out a little shriek as she and her father passed through the window. On the other side, they found themselves standing on a stone sidewalk of a part of town Felicity had never been in before.  
  
She turned around to see the people, who only moments ago had been frozen in place, returned to their normal activity; apparently unaware of the events that had just occurred.  
  
Felicity, however, was completely aware of what had just happened. She stared at her father as if he were a total stranger. She stared at the strange street with its stone sidewalks. She stared back at the window with its view of the normal world. She tried to think of something useful to say, but no words seemed to come to her. The street they stood on looked very old, even for Providence, which is filled with old streets. Down the center of it was a set of streetcar tracks. Above them was a web of wires needed by the streetcars.  
  
As she watched, a trolley moved down the street. From time to time a voice would call out from it, saying, "Step aside, please" or "Coming through." Felicity realized after a moment that these warnings were not coming from the conductor but from the trolley itself. For on the front was a large jolly looking face, which issued the warning in a good-natured way to the pedestrians in the street.  
  
"Martin, Martin Stockwell, is that you?" The voice came from behind them. Felicity and her father turned to see a short man approaching them. He wore a tweed suit coat that fit him badly and a pair of wool knickers. Over all of this was a billowing, if somewhat decrepit-looking, cape, which flowed out behind him like a river.  
  
"Grimsby Goldstine," Felicity's father said, extending his hand. "What brings you to Providence?"  
  
"Oh, the usual," the little man said. "Some of the boys down here have been using magic on the muggles again without permission, we can't have that, you know."  
  
Felicity perked up at the word "muggles." This was the first time, outside of the schoolyard three years ago, that she had heard the term. She pulled at her father's arm, fully intending to ask just what a muggle was, but before she could open her mouth, Mr. Goldstine interrupted.  
  
"And who is this?" he asked, with the kind of air that suggested he knew the answer already.  
  
"This is my daughter, Felicity," her father replied.  
  
"Oh, yes, why of course it is. And what a pretty thing she is, too."  
  
Felicity could feel her face growing warm under the compliment.  
  
"And from the looks of it I would say this is her first visit to the magical world." Grimsby smiled and went on. "Well, nothing to worry about, my dear, it's as normal as can be. I suppose that you will be going to Salem Academy next school year, won't you?"  
  
Felicity, who had yet to get her voice back, managed a nod in agreement.  
  
"Excellent!" exclaimed the little man. "My granddaughter Sarah will be starting at Salem next year, as well. You never can tell, you might just be roommates. Well, Martin, I had better be going. It was nice seeing you again." He then reached over and took Felicity's hand and gave it a soft kiss. Felicity giggled, more out of embarrassment than anything else. "And nice meeting you, my dear," he said, before turning to walk into the crowd.  
  
Words finally came back to Felicity.  
  
"Father, what on earth..." her voice trailed off as her father looked at her.  
  
"Felicity, I know you must have a thousand questions right now and I will try to answer as many as I can. But could we talk in my office and not out here in the street?"  
  
Felicity nodded and took her father's hand.  
  
They walked for a bit down the odd little street, which housed bookshops, apothecaries and clothing stores, offering a strange array of articles such as capes and hats. At the end of the block they came to a grey granite three-story building. Above the door inscribed in the stone were the words: "Gringotts Bank North America."  
  
"This, pumpkin, is where I work," her father said as he held the massive bronze door to the lobby open for her.  
  
Felicity looked about. It seemed like a normal bank. Just the sort of place she had imagined, except for the owls.  
  
Lined up on a bar above the old teller cages were about 20 owls of different sizes. Attached to the talon of each was a small satchel made of leather. From time to time, one of the tellers, who all appeared to be in their mid-twenties with serious looks upon their faces, would gesture and one of the owls would flutter down from its perch to his side. The teller would then insert a paper or a small number of coins into the satchel. The owl would then take flight, flying high into the top of the room before exiting through a small window in the ceiling.  
  
"This way," her father indicated with his arm to a great stone staircase at the back of the foyer. The stairs went up for a flight before requiring the climber to choose another set to the right or left. Felicity followed her father up the right-hand staircase to a balcony overlooking the foyer below.  
  
They walked the length of the balcony, Felicity running her hand along the brass railing. From the looks of its brightness, quite a number of people had done the same.  
  
They reached the corner office; the oak door held a brass plate, which read, "Martin Stockwell, North American Manager."  
  
Her father opened the door to a bright office with bookcases running from floor to ceiling. There was a large roll-top desk at one side of the room and a leather couch and chairs at the other. It could have been any office, except, again, for the owl. This one had perched itself on a brass rod held in place by a pole and resembled a lamp without the shade.  
  
Felicity could stand it no longer. "Father," she stammered, "how is all this poss..."  
  
"Possible?" her father asked, completing her sentence. "It is all quite real, I assure you of that, pumpkin," he said with a smile. "Have a seat and I'll explain."  
  
Felicity perched herself on the edge of one of the leather chairs. Her father sat comfortably on the sofa.  
  
"Would you like a drink of water?" he asked, gesturing to the glass pitcher of water on the low table between them. "Yes, please." Felicity replied, for she really was quite thirsty following all the events she had just been through.  
  
Her father moved his hand ever so slightly and the pitcher rose into the air before tipping itself and pouring two glasses of water. The pitcher returned to its location and one of the glasses then floated over to Felicity, who grasped it gently as it floated in front of her.  
  
"How do you do..." Felicity was still stammering, trying to take in the amazing events she was seeing her father perform. Martin Stockwell had always seemed to be a perfectly normal sort or person, until today.  
  
"It's really quite simple, pumpkin. In fact, with a bit of practice, you can do it, as well.  
  
"You see, there are really only two types of people in the world: Normal people like you meet every day; and magical people --- wizards and witches and the like."  
  
Felicity just blinked at her father. She drank her water and looked at him for a moment. "But you don't look like a wizard," she said. "You look like, like a banker."  
  
Martin Stockwell laughed. "Yes, I do look like a banker don't I?" he replied, looking down at his conservative three-piece black suit with the gold chain, which held his Grandfather Stockwell's pocket watch in the vest pocket.  
  
"You see," he continued, "there are magical people everywhere, there always have been. More in some places like England and fewer in others."  
  
"But I'm not magical," said Felicity.  
  
"Oh, but I assure you, you are, my dear. You just didn't know you were. But others did. Take that Williams boy, for example; he has known you were for many years now."  
  
"Is Roger.."  
  
"A wizard?" said her father. "Not yet, I fear, he needs training for that. But, yes, he is magical, just as you are."  
  
"Does all this have something to do with why he called Mary and Alice Ômuggles,' when they were teasing me at school?" Felicity asked. "And that man in the street talked about muggles, too."  
  
Martin Stockwell sighed. "Muggles is an old word for non-magical people. It is not really polite to use it. It is sort of an insult. Do you understand?"  
  
"Uh-huh," Felicity nodded.  
  
"And don't every use that word around your mother," her father warned. "She really hates being called that."  
  
"So Mother isn't a witch or anything?" Felicity was now getting used to the idea of witches and wizards, as strange as it was.  
  
"No, your mother is not magical, at least not in the way you are thinking of; but she knows all about the magical world. In Europe it is rare for magical and non-magical people to marry, but here it is really quite common."  
  
"But why didn't you ever tell me about this?" Felicity's face grew red with the question, a sure sign of her rising indignation.  
  
"Felicity," her father's voice took on a serious tone, "not everyone is as accepting of magical people as your mother. Do you remember in your history class when they talked about the Salem witch trials?"  
  
Felicity remembered quite well the stories of the young girls her age accused of witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts, so long ago. She had even seen a play about it last summer with her parents.  
  
"But, Daddy, that was hundreds of years ago."  
  
"True," her father continued. "But those events left an impression on the magical people here in America. After that we began to wait until our children were old enough to learn how to use these powers before we told them of their existence. Salem was our darkest hour.  
  
"Pumpkin, there are still people who fear us; who burn books they do not understand or like; who fear a religion, or a belief or a power they find strange. It is for your own protection that your mother and I kept this from you until you were ready to leave home for school. Do you understand?"  
  
"I think so," said Felicity, looking at the glass in her hand. She was sort of ashamed that she had become angry with her father.  
  
"Good, then," he said. "We should be going now. Your mother will be waiting for us, most likely with a cake, I suspect. And on our way out, you can pick out your own book as a gift at the bookshop on the corner. I bet there is something there you would find interesting."  
  
Felicity stood up, still holding the glass.  
  
"Felicity," her father said, "why don't you give it a try?"  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"The glass," he said, pointing at the tumbler she held in her hand. "Have it land here next to the others."  
  
"I don't know how," protested Felicity.  
  
"It's quite simple, just let go and tell it in your mind where you would like to land."  
  
Felicity thought for a long while and then let go of the glass while telling it to go to the table with the others. She watched in wide-eyed wonder as the glass floated across the table and landed, a bit hard, next to the others.  
  
"Did I do that!" she gasped to her proud father.  
  
"You certainly did, pumpkin," he replied, with a wide grin. "You most certainly did." 


	4. Chapter Three A trip to the Cape

Chapter Three A trip to the Cape  
  
"A great deal has happened to me lately," thought Felicity as she sat in the back seat of the car on her way to her grandparents' cottage on Cape Cod.  
  
Indeed it had. Finding out that her father, who seemed perfectly normal, was, in fact, a powerful wizard able to perform magical acts at will would have been quite enough for Felicity, but to discover that she shared the same powers seemed overwhelming to her.  
  
"But, really, I'm still just a school girl," she tried to convince herself without much luck. She went back to reading the book that lay across her lap.  
  
Felicity had convinced her father to let her buy two books at the Tides End Bookshop. One was titled Beginning Spells and Charms and was written by some school teacher in England whose name Felicity had now forgotten, as she had not read much of it. She expected to have a good deal of such reading to do at Salem Academy, anyway.  
  
The other book, the one she now held, was, by far, more interesting to her. It was Wizarding in America, A History by Emmet Weatherwax.  
  
The book itself was old but had been rebound, making it look new. In its pages Felicity had read of the great wizarding family of America, including the Stockwells, whose connection to Gringotts Bank dated back centuries. As it turned out, Aunt Joan's tales of the Stockwells being an old family were true.  
  
Felicity also read how many of the magical peoples of early America had escaped from Massachusetts and fled --- either north to what was then the uninhabited woods of Maine, where they had founded the small town of Salem and established the first school of wizardry and witchcraft in America, Salem Academy; or south to Rhode Island, where more liberal attitudes prevailed and where Providence would become the center of the wizarding in America.  
  
Felicity had thought how much more interesting her sixth-grade class in Rhode Island history would have been if Mrs. Thomas had only known about this book.  
  
Felicity was in the habit of jumping around in books and, as this was such a thick title, she had picked out the parts which sounded interesting to her, such as "The Stockwells in America." She had now turned her attention to the chapter on the Salem witch trials.  
  
"The Salem witch trials mark one of the darkest points in the history of our people," the chapter began.  
  
"It is believed by some that the troubles began when agents of the first Lord Voldemort or perhaps the lord, himself, cast spells on the young women of the community to gain control over them..."  
  
Voldermort, the name sent a shiver down her. For the first time, it occurred to Felicity that perhaps not all wizards were as benign as her father and Mr. Goldstine.  
  
"Father?" she asked.  
  
"Yes?" her father answered, as they turned onto Route 3 headed for the bridge that would take them over the Cape Cod Canal and onto the cottage.  
  
"Are all wizards good, like you and Mr. Goldstine?" she asked.  
  
"Do you mean do wizards sometimes do bad things like normal people?"  
  
"No, not like that, really; are there bad wizards?"  
  
"Yes, sadly there are. Just like there are bad mugg..."  
  
"Martin!" Anne Stockwell's voice had the sharp ring of a schoolteacher correcting an errant boy.  
  
"Just like there are bad people in the regular world," he continued, "there are bad wizards as well. They use their powers for gain or to control others."  
  
"You mean like Lord Voldemort?" Felicity asked.  
  
At the sound of that name, Martin Stockwell became visibly shaken. The car swerved wildly and horns sounded from behind them. "Voldemort," he uttered, half under his breath.  
  
"Martin? Are you all right?" Anne Stockwell looked white with fright and concern.  
  
Felicity sat back in the car seat. Whoever or whatever Voldemort was, the mere mention of his name had produced an effect on her father the likes of which she had never seen. She clutched the book to her chest as the car slowed and pulled off to the side of the road.  
  
When the car stopped, her father turned to Felicity. For the first time in her thirteen years, she saw real fear in her father's dark green eyes.  
  
"Where did you hear of Voldemort?" he asked, in a voice that meant that he expected a clear and immediate answer.  
  
Felicity shrunk back further into the seat. "In this book," she said timidly.  
  
Martin Stockwell reached back and took the book from Felicity. He looked at the page.  
  
"Martin!" Anne was now breathing again following the wild ride.  
  
"Voldemort," Martin Stockwell whispered. "How old is this book?" he said, flipping the pages to the front and examining the title page closely.  
  
He looked out the front window for a long time. Finally he spoke. "It was all a mistake," he said slowly. "Some of these books had a mistake in them, that all. You needn't worry about it." He turned again and looked at her. "Why don't you read your spells book? It's far more useful and it will give you a head start in school next fall."  
  
Felicity realized that while her father's words sounded like a suggestion, the tone in his voice made it clear that he expected her to comply.  
  
"Uh, OK," she said.  
  
"Martin Stockwell, who..." Anne Stockwell was usually fully able to go head-to-head with her husband on any issue but, this time, he looked at her in a way that stopped her cold. She had never seen such a look on her husband's face and hoped never to see it again.  
  
Felicity sat back as the car eased out into traffic once again. She tried to amuse herself with moving items about with the simple spells her father had shown her, but they didn't seem to work well. No one spoke for a very long time. It was as if a dark cloud had enveloped the Stockwell family.  
  
Their mood brightened a bit as they drove on and, by the time they stopped to eat lunch at a small seafood restaurant in Orleans, the whole matter seemed to have been forgotten.  
  
Felicity considered asking for her book back but then thought the better of it.  
  
Her father turned off Route 6 and onto the local streets at East Orleans. Felicity opened the car window and could smell the sea air now. The sky was a hazy blue and seagulls pitched and dived in the wind. They drove down Beach Street until they came Standish Road and then to Oliver's Way. At the end of Olivers Way, her father turned onto the sandy road that led to her grandparents' cottage.  
  
Grampa Stockwell's cottage was a large rambling place, which faced out onto a shallow bay. It was covered with grey shingles that had never been painted. The porch looked out over the water and, above that, was a balcony; off the airy bedroom that Felicity had begged her grandfather to let her sleep in whenever she visited.  
  
Felicity was the elder Stockwells' only grandchild and the couple indulged her in nearly every request, including this one.  
  
Down by the water, her grandfather kept a small wooden rowboat tied to a short dock on the sandy shore.  
  
The car came to a stop in front of the kitchen door to the cottage.  
  
Emma Stockwell opened the screen door. She was a short, pleasant-looking woman of 70, with short grey hair. She wore a dark blue dress and a white apron with a flower print; and looked like all the other polite, well-educated, socially active women who lived in the suburbs north of Boston and summered on the Cape.  
  
Felicity got out of the car and let Marx out of his plastic car carrier. He stretched and then ran under the cottage. Felicity knew she would not see him for several days, as Marx hated car trips and would always sulk about under the kitchen porch for a day or two before emerging.  
  
Felicity gave her grandmother a hug. "Hi, Grandma," she said. It seemed odd to Felicity to think of her as a witch.  
  
"Hello, Felicity," she replied. "I hear you had quite a birthday."  
  
"I sure did!" Felicity said. She had grown to like the idea of being special.  
  
"Well, there are some brownies in the kitchen for you," her grandmother nodded in the direction of the door.  
  
"Thanks," said Felicity. As she headed for the door, she paused thinking she would get her things from the car first. As she did, she noticed her father handing her grandmother the book which had been the cause of such a commotion in the car.  
  
"Put this someplace safe," Martin Stockwell said in a low voice to his mother.  
  
The cottage, with its cream-colored interior with many windows, was bright in the afternoon sun. The blue curtains fluttered in the breeze. The furnishings were an odd assortment, none of which really matched. Felicity sat down at the table where her grandmother had placed the plate of brownies and quart of milk with a glass.  
  
She took a brownie and started to eat it. Then she glanced at the paper carton on the table. A smile came over her face as she concentrated on the carton of milk. With a slight wave of her hand, the carton lifted off the table and started to tip. The only problem was the glass was not under it. Felicity grabbed the glass, but, by that time, it was too late. The milk was being poured onto the table and beginning to run onto the floor.  
  
"Felicity!" It was her mother's voice. "Look at the mess you've made!"  
  
It was indeed a mess. The last of the milk had poured from the carton and was now making its way to the floor. The carton stood suspended in air. Felicity looked down at the puddle of milk at her feet.  
  
"Really, Felicity," her mother said, "if you're going to practice magic, you should do it with something a little less runny."  
  
"Sorry," Felicity said, still looking at the milk as it inched its way across the floor in a small stream.  
  
"Oh, goodness, those things will happen when a girl is this age." It was her grandmother, who had come into the kitchen. "Nothing to worry about, Felicity dear."  
  
Taking a short wand from her apron, Grandma waved it above the carton. The milk, which had been creeping ever closer to the outside wall of the kitchen, suddenly reversed course and, in an instant, had flowed back into the carton, which then righted itself. She then move her hand toward the sink. The carton followed and then hovered above the sink for a moment.  
  
"There now, you have it empty itself down the sink, dear."  
  
Felicity looked at the carton, thought very hard, and waved her hand. Nothing happened.  
  
"A wand really helps," said Grandma, handing her the wand. "Try again."  
  
Felicity took the wand and pointed it at the carton of milk. But instead of tipping neatly into the sink, the carton took flight. It raced toward the kitchen door as her father was opening it and just missed his head as it flew thought the door and disappeared.  
  
"We will have to practice some more, dear," said Felicity's grandmother, who seemed not the least disturbed by the loss of the milk.  
  
"I hope this won't take long," her mother chimed in. "Unlike the rest of you, I can't rely on magic to clean the house."  
  
Just then, a small brown owl flew through the open window and perched itself on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Tied to its talon was a little satchel, much like the ones Felicity had seen at her father's bank.  
  
"That must be from your Aunt Joan," Grandma said. She retrieved the paper from the owl and unfolded it. It read: "Will fly in tonight, Can't wait to see our birthday girl now that she's all grown up. I will be bringing gifts. Joan."  
  
"Fly in?" Felicity asked.  
  
"Just wait!" said her mother, with a twinkle in her eyes. 


	5. Chapter Four Aunt Joan's arrival

Chapter 4 Aunt Joan's arrival  
  
Felicity stood at the water's edge letting the wind blow her hair wildly about behind her. The late afternoon sun blazed orange in the western sky. Little waves rippled up onto the shandy shore, making the sound of a sink whose faucet had been left dripping. It was nearly supper-time.  
  
As she turned to climb up the low dune that separated the edge of the water from the cottage, something in the western sky caught her attention. At first she thought it was a bird or a small airplane, but, as it came closer, she could tell it was a person.  
  
Then, at once, it came into view. It was her Aunt Joan riding an old-fashioned broom, the kind Felicity had only seen in picture books. It had a wooden handle and straw out the back.  
  
"Hellooo..." Aunt Joan waved as she came in over the cottage. She landed gently in front of Felicity, kicking up a bit of sand as her feet touched the ground.  
  
Aunt Joan was a bit older than Felicity's father, perhaps 50 or so. She wore her dark brown hair pulled back and had the Stockwell green eyes. She wore a dark purple dress, which complimented her figure. Felicity guessed her aunt had not changed much since girlhood. Joan was a pleasant, if somewhat chatty, woman with a quick smile and an independent spirit about her. She was Felicity's favorite relative and Joan returned the favor.  
  
Attached to the handle of the broom, by means of string, were a number of parcels, all carefully wrapped in brown craft paper.  
  
"Hello, Felicity," Aunt Joan said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I must say it is nice to be able to fly to see you now. I never did care for the train, you know. And flying is so much more pleasant a way to travel, except, of course, when it's raining."  
  
Felicity now realized why so few members of the Stockwell family ever drove anywhere or, for that matter, even owned a car.  
  
They started walking towards the cottage. Behind them followed the broom, like a flying dog, floating along about three feet off the ground.  
  
"So, Felicity," her aunt said, "have you tried flying yet?"  
  
"No." Felicity said. "I didn't know I could."  
  
"Well!" replied Aunt Joan in a cheery voice. "I'll just have to teach you then. It is ever so nice and this is the perfect place to learn, with the wind and the beach and all. In fact, this is where Mother taught me when I was a girl." She winked at Felicity, "Of course, I'm still a girl at heart, you know."  
  
Felicity giggled and so did Aunt Joan.  
  
After supper, Aunt Joan brought out the boxes that she had brought with her.  
  
"Every young witch needs a few things to start school with" she announced.  
  
The idea of being called a witch struck Felicity funny, for while she now knew she was a witch, no one had yet called her that.  
  
"Here you go." Her aunt passed her a small slender box. "I picked this up in England a couple of years ago. I knew you would be needing one soon."  
  
Felicity opened the box; inside was a wand made of wood, about 10 inches long. She held it up and gave it a swish in front of her. At once, all of the sheet music on the piano across the room fell off onto the floor.  
  
"Oops," Felicity said, blushing.  
  
"Careful with that thing," her mother warned.  
  
The next box contained a rather heavy black wool cape. It had belonged to her great-grandmother, according to Joan. "I had it cleaned and fixed up for you, dear," she said, clearly proud at having found and restored the old cape to usable condition.  
  
"You'll want it when it comes winter up in Salem," her aunt continued. "Those old school buildings can get cold in the winter and, besides that, you may find the cape is able to do some useful things," she said with a smile.  
  
Her father then appeared with a box. Inside was clothing. "There are several other sets of these for you," he said.  
  
It was a Salem Academy uniform.  
  
Salem Academy still used a very traditional school uniform. It was a light-blue oxford shirt with a charcoal-grey pleated skirt and dark-blue knee-length socks. In addition, there was either a grey sweater vest with dark-blue trim or a dark-blue blazer with the school's crest on the left-hand breast.  
  
The school crest was shaped like a shield. At the top were clouds with lightning bolts coming from them; under that was the stump of an oak tree with a single new shoot holding two oak leave and an acorn. Above the crest, the school motto was inscribed in Latin: "Novus Vita" or "New Life."  
  
Also in the box was a light-yellow tie. Felicity held it up.  
  
"It's your class year tie," her father said. "Each class at Salem is identified by the color of its tie. Yellow is for the Entered class."  
  
The classes, Felicity's father then explained, each had a name and color attached. The Entered or Freshman class was yellow; The Apprentice or Sophomore class wore green ties; the Fellowcraft or Junior class wore blue; and, finally, the Master or Senior class wore red.  
  
"Let's see you in your uniform," her mother urged.  
  
Felicity went upstairs to change and came down a few minutes.  
  
"The skirt's too long," Joan said immediately. "Just because you have to wear a uniform all the time doesn't mean you need to look dowdy."  
  
"Dowdy?" Felicity asked.  
  
"It means old-fashioned," her mother said.  
  
Her grandfather then stood up. He handed her a small flat box. "This is for you," he said.  
  
Felicity took out another tie. This one was gold with red diagonal stripes. She looked puzzled. After all, hadn't her father just said that each of the classes had ties that matched their class colors?  
  
"Most of the time," Grandpa said, "you have to wear you class color tie; but on Sundays at church and on some other special occasions, you may wear one of your own choosing."  
  
"I can assure you, Felicity, you will see some very unusual ties," her aunt grinned.  
  
Her grandfather continued in a more serious tone. "But it is supposed to be special tie; one that means something special to you. This tie belonged to your great-grandfather in England, Adieus Weasly. It is a Gryffindor tie from Hogwarts School. Treat it well; there are not many of them in this country."  
  
Felicity looked down at the tie. The gold thread seemed to give off a slight glow as she ran her fingers over it.  
  
"Gryffindor," Felicity said in a whisper. 


	6. Chapter Five Felicity's flying lesson

Chapter Five - Felicity's flying lesson  
  
"Feliciteeee..."  
  
Felicity half-opened her eyes and rolled over in bed to look at the door. Aunt Joan was standing in the doorway, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. In each hand she held a broom.  
  
"Come on, get up, we have some flying to do," she said in a hushed conspiratorial tone. "I want you to surprise your folks," she added.  
  
Felicity climbed out of bed.  
  
"You had better wear pants or shorts or something. It's best not to learn flying with a skirt on, at least not if you're a lady," Joan giggled.  
  
Felicity dressed in her long red shorts and a pull over top.  
  
"Here," her aunt handed her one of the brooms. "It was mine when I was about your age. I found it out in the shed."  
  
Felicity and Joan crept down the stairs to the kitchen. It was clear that Aunt Joan had planned for a day's outing for she had packed her travel bag with a picnic and a blanket. She gave Felicity a muffin and glass of milk. Once finished, the two slipped out the back door.  
  
When they were beyond earshot of the cottage, Aunt Joan opened up and became her chatty self once again.  
  
"Normally, a girl's mother would teach her how to fly. But, in your case, that is just not possible."  
  
"Aunt Joan, how did Mother and Father meet?" Felicity had not thought of the matter before her father had told her that, in some places, magical and non-magical peoples seldom married.  
  
"Didn't they ever tell you?" Aunt Joan seemed surprised. "That brother of mine! He's too private for his own good. I suppose he didn't tell you about the facts of life, either!"  
  
"Mother did," Felicity said, feeling a bit embarrased.  
  
"Well, I'm glad about that!" said Joan with a smile. "One less thing that I have to teach you," she laughed.  
  
"Your father and mother met at Gringotts."  
  
"But Mother's not magical; what was she doing at Gringotts?" Felicity asked.  
  
"Well, that is just it, she wasn't supposed to be there at all. It seems that a young wizard who was studying at the School of Design had some paintings out in the park one day. He had placed a charm on the paintings, you see. Your mother had stopped to look at them, when a gust of wind caught the painting and blew it into your mother.  
  
"As quick as you could say Ômagicla ars,' Anne fell into the painting. The painting was of the street in front of Gringotts. She fell headlong into your father who was just coming out of work.  
  
"You might say, my dear, that they Ôfell in love.'" Joan laughed at this clever use of words. She then went on.  
  
"So Anne and Martin fell in love and got married at the church across the street from your house. I can tell you that Father was none to happy at first about having a muggle in the family, but he got over it, particularly after you were born. Those green eye of yours assured everyone in the family that you were magical.  
  
"And, over time, your mother has come to fit in quite well in our world. Why, there are some who have no idea that she's a muggle at all."  
  
Felicity gave a quick look at her aunt at the second use of muggle in referring to her mother.  
  
Joan let out a long sigh. "Oh, I know I'm not supposed to call her that. It's ever so rude of me. It's just one of my many bad habits, I fear."  
  
As they walked through the neighborhood, people would occasionally give a second look at the two of them with their brooms.  
  
"I bet they're wondering what we're up to," Joan said coyly. "Just keep smiling," she chuckled, then continued. "You have to be careful not to be doing magic around mug--- non-magical people, less you have a permit from the Commissioner."  
  
"Commissioner?" Felicity looked up from kicking a small stone along the roadside.  
  
"The Commissioner of Magic, he's the one who gives out permits and what not. Arthur Daniels Williams is his name. His office is not far from where your father works. One of the oldest families in Rhode Island, they say."  
  
"Williams..." Felicity said slowly. "Any relation to...?"  
  
"That boy you're so fond of?" Joan said, smiling at the memory of her own girlhood crush. "He's his father," she replied.  
  
Felicity turned this matter over in her mind a bit.  
  
They came to the seashore at the eastern edge of town and climbed several rows of sand dunes before coming to a spot which Joan felt was suitable. She put down her bag and spread out the blanket in a protected spot. She then took Felicity out into the open. After checking to ensure they were alone, she began Felicity's flying lesson.  
  
"First thing you need to remember is to never let go of the broom," Aunt Joan said. "If you do, you'll fall and the broom may not be able to catch up with you before you hit the ground.  
  
"Now get on your broom."  
  
Felicity straddled the broom next to her aunt.  
  
"It's really quite simple. All you need to do is point the broomstick in the direction you want the broom to go. Point it up and you will rise; down and you will fall. You get the idea?" Aunt Joan looked at Felicity.  
  
Felicity stood on the beach, the wind coming in off the Atlantic and mimicking her aunt's movements.  
  
"You use your legs to control your speed," Joan continued. "If you put them in front of you, you'll slow down; put then behind you and you go faster."  
  
"How do I get it to go up in the air?" Felicity was getting excited about the prospect of flying; it sure beat using a bicycle.  
  
"Hold on to the broom tight now."  
  
Felicity took a tight hold of the broom.  
  
"Now say ÔVolaticus.'" As Joan did so, her broom lifted gently into the air and hovered about three feet off the ground.  
  
"V-O-L-A-T-I-C-U-S," Felicity said slowly. But rather than gently floating into the air as her aunt had done, the broom lurched wildly into the wind. Felicity grasped the broom even tighter as it rocked and bucked under her, but it was no use. She soon found herself on the sand, the broom next to her.  
  
Joan landed nearby. "It happens to everyone their first time out. But you'll get used to it. It's no more difficult than riding a bicycle."  
  
After several attempts, Felicity was able to get the broom airborne without too much difficulty. Aunt Joan was right; flying was a very nice way to travel. Felicity skimmed along the beach, only occasionally being blown off course by a gust of wind. She looked down with delight at the broom, which carried her so effortlessly wherever she wished to go.  
  
Aunt Joan flew alongside, her mind ripe with the memories of her own girlhood along the same stretch of deserted beach. It was as if she were reliving that magical time when her life changed as well.  
  
Felicity and her aunt sat on the blanket eating their lunch.  
  
"Aunt Joan, can I ask you a question?"  
  
"Oooh, must be serious if you have to ask if you can ask it first," Joan said with a smile. "Sure, go ahead."  
  
"Who was Lord Voldemort?"  
  
At once, Aunt Joan's cheery disposition changed. She turned and looked at Felicity. "You must never say that name aloud, Felicity. Do you understand?"  
  
Felicity shrunk back. "No, not really," she said.  
  
"It is because of him and his family that the troubles were visited upon our people so long ago. It is because of him that we can never return to Salem, Massachusetts."  
  
Felicity looked completely baffled. "We can't go to Salem?"  
  
"No, no magical person can. The spell can only be broken when Ôthe widow's son' returns and we don't know who that is.  
  
"The first Lord placed the curse on the town. His family has been the cause of considerable trouble in the magical world and continues to be so even to this day. By not speaking the name, we do not grant the family any more power than it has. Fortunately for us, they seems to have lost interest in Salem."  
  
Felicity now realized why her father had become so upset at the mention of Voldemort's name.  
  
"Felicity," her aunt continued, "you must promise me never to utter that name again, you promise?" Her aunt look deeply at Felicity.  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Good, then," her aunt had returned, as if by a spell, to her usually cheery self. "How about some more cake?" she said, handing her another slice of the chocolate cake Felicity's mother had made for her birthday.  
  
The late afternoon sun shown through the haze as Felicity, now grown accustomed to handling the broom, raced along the shore. Aunt Joan sat on the beach admiring the view, satisfied at the training of her young niece.  
  
Felicity did not notice the forms of two people approaching on a broom behind her. She was startled a bit as they rose to greet her. It was her parents, who were as surprised to see her as she them. Martin Stockwell was in front with his wife behind, her arms around his waist. They waved and said nothing, but flew alongside their daughter in the sea air, gulls swooping in front of them.  
  
Felicity looked over at her mother, whose chin rested on her husband's shoulder. She looked so happy to be flying with him, not having to hide from Felicity; like she must have looked when they were newlyweds, Felicity thought. 


	7. Chapter Six A regular Salem Academy gir...

Chapter Six - A regular Salem Academy girl  
  
Felicity stood in front of the mirror on the back of the door in her room, turning this way and that, examining how she looked in the Salem Academy uniform.  
  
It was now late summer and she would soon be wearing these clothes most of the time. A visit for two weeks to her aunt's house had resulted in the skirts being shortened by several inches. Felicity wondered if they might be a bit too short.  
  
"Nonsense!" Aunt Joan had declared. "You look darling in them. Oh, the boys are going to just swoon over you," she had said, with satifaction.  
  
Felicity thought that perhaps the boys at Salem Academy had done a fair bit of swooning for Aunt Joan as well.  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
"I'll get it," Felicity yelled to her mother, who was playing the piano in the living room. Felicity charged down the stairs to the foyer with its massive old door. She pulled it open to find Roger Williams standing on the stoop.  
  
Roger Williams was a year older than Felicity and perhaps a head taller, though this had seemed not to be the case the last time she had seen him. He wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt with the words, "Property of Salem Academy Athletic Dept.," written on it. His dark brown hair needed to be combed.  
  
"Hi, Felicity," he said. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Sure." Felicity opened the door further and Roger stepped into the foyer. He looked over Felicity and announced, "Boy, you look like a regular Salem Academy girl now!"  
  
Felicity could feel the blush rising in her. Fortunately, her mother came into the foyer.  
  
"Oh, Roger, nice to see you again. How are your mother and father?" Felicity's mother always seemed to be interested in the parents of her friends.  
  
"They're fine, thank you," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another.  
  
"And your brothers?" Felicity's mother went on.  
  
Roger had two older brothers; one, Steven, was a senior and a proctor at Salem.  
  
"They're fine, too," Roger offered.  
  
Felicity glared at her mother for a moment, trying to communicate that she would just as soon Mother go back to playing the piano rather than stand talking to Roger. Her mother got the hint, but frowned back as if to say, "Don't glare at me, young lady."  
  
She smiled and said, "I must get back to my piano practice. Goodbye, Roger."  
  
He acknowledged and, once Felicity's mother was gone, turned to Felicity. "I thought you might like to go do a bit of school shopping," he said with a hopeful note in his voice. "We could pick up a few things and I need to look for a new owl. I'm afraid mine met a rather sad end this spring. Do you have an owl yet?" he asked.  
  
An owl was about the only thing Felicity did not have. Between her parents, grandparents and aunt, Felicity had been well-stocked for the coming school year. The selection of an owl had been the one item which had not been taken care of.  
  
"No," she said. "But I would like to look for one. I have no idea what to look for in an owl."  
  
"Well, we could go look for one down at WCMI; they have the best selection of owls, according to the boys at school."  
  
"That would be great!" Felicity said. She stuck her head into the living-room.  
  
"Mother, can I go with Roger and look for an owl?" Her face had the sort of look on it which told her mother that she really wanted her to say yes.  
  
"I guess it would be all right." Her mother then thought for a moment. "But I don't have any wizard money. You'll need to stop by the bank and get some from your father. How are you going to get there?" she asked. "Remember, no flying in the city."  
  
Felicity had been given strict warnings about flying in the city. The sight of a girl on a broom flying over the rooftops of Providence would have been sure to catch the attention of the non-magical residents.  
  
She turned back to Roger. "How are we going to get there?" she asked.  
  
"I have some Viator Dust," Roger said.  
  
Felicity had no idea what Viator Dust was or what it did, but she really didn't care. She turned back to her mother.  
  
"Roger has some Viator Dust," she said.  
  
"Oh, that's fine then. Have a good time and be back home in time for supper," her mother answered. "And, if you do buy a owl, make sure it has a cage," she added.  
  
"Roger, what's Viator Dust?" Felicity asked as they stood on the front stoop.  
  
"It's a transportation charm," he said calmly. "It will take you places provided they are not too far away. It's only good for maybe two miles at the most and then you never know where you might end up. But from here to your father's bank shouldn't be any problem. Here..."  
  
Roger took Felicity's hand. Felicity felt an odd little feeling as he did so. Roger smiled and then looked to see if the street was clear of people.  
  
"Proficiscor," he said as he tossed a bit of silvery dust into the air.  
  
In an instant the two of them stood in front of Gringotts Bank. "You see," he said, letting go of her hand, "as simple as can be."  
  
Felicity noticed that her hand felt warm and moist.  
  
She went into the bank and upstairs to her father's office. The door was open and she stuck her head in. Her father was at his desk.  
  
"Hello, Dad," she said.  
  
"Pumpkin!" her father looked up somewhat suprised to see her. "Whatever brings you down here?"  
  
Felicity walked into the office. "I am sorry to bother you at work. Roger and I came down to look at owls. But Mother said I needed to talk to you about money for one."  
  
"How much do you need?" her father asked.  
  
This question stumped Felicity as she had no idea how much an owl would cost. "I don't know," she answered. "How much are they?"  
  
"Well, let's see, it's been a while since I needed to buy an owl... I know just who to ask."  
  
Martin Stockwell then reached down and pulled a rubber tube from under his desk. On the end of the tube was what appeared to be a mouthpiece. He took a deep breath and blew into the tube.  
  
In a moment, a short stout woman wearing a cape and a black floor-length dress appeared in the doorway. "Yes, Mr. Stockwell?" she asked.  
  
"Mrs. Quimbly, this is my daughter, Felicity. She needs to buy an owl for school. How much are owls these days?"  
  
Mrs. Quimbly was a business-like woman. "Provided you don't want a fancy imported one," she said curtly. "I believe that two galleons, 14 sickles and 17 knuts should do."  
  
"Thank you," Felicity's father said and, with that, Mrs. Quimbly turned and walked out the door. "Well, she would know." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. "Here's three galleons and some sickles and knuts," he said, reaching across the desk. "Don't spend too much on one, they tend to get shot at up in Maine."  
  
"I won't, thanks, Daddy." Felicity turned and hurried down the stairs to Roger, who was waiting for her in the lobby of the bank, watching the owls making their deliveries and considering which type he might like.  
  
"How much did you get?" he asked as Felicity came down the stairs.  
  
"Three galleons and some change," she replied, somewhat confused.  
  
"Three galleons and some change!" Roger looked surprised.  
  
"Is that a lot?" asked Felicity. She was still not accustomed to how wizard money worked.  
  
"You could get a really good owl for three galleons!" Roger answered.  
  
"My father said not to spend too much on one as they can get shot up in Maine," Felicity said. "Is that true? Do people shoot them?"  
  
"It's true," Roger said. "I think that must have been what happened to mine. There's the trolley now." He said, pointing to the streetcar making its way toward them.  
  
Roger placed two small tokens into the fare-box of the trolley, which responded with a "thank you."  
  
"And were would you be going today, Master Williams?" The trolley asked.  
  
"We need to go to WCMI to buy an owl," Roger told the trolley.  
  
"WCMI it is, then," said the trolley and off it went. It rolled down the street clanging its brass bell at the intersections and occasionally issuing its cheery warning to pedestrians. Felicity and Roger held onto the leather straps that hung from the brass rod over their heads. They swayed as the trolley moved down the street.  
  
After a bit, the trolley came to a stop and announced: "WCMI."  
  
Roger and Felicity stepped off onto the street. "Thanks," said Roger. He looked at Felicity, who realized that she, too, should thank the trolley. "Thank you," she said.  
  
"You're welcome," replied the trolley. Then it rang its bell and started off down the street again. As it did, Felicity read the words painted on its side: ÔMagical Electric Street Railway of Providence.'  
  
They stood in front of a large four-story building, which took up the entire block. Its front was set off by a cast-iron set of arches. Above the doors, in bright brass letters, were the words "The Wizards' Cooperative Mercantile Institution," or, as it was universally known in the wizarding world, WCMI.  
  
WCMI was a sort of department store for all things magical. Six floors of wonders and what not, attended to by an array of elves, fairies, humans and what-have-you.  
  
Felicity and Roger went through the front door and stood on the ground floor for a moment. The store was a bustle of activity. They turned and walked past a counter of potions. A hand-lettered sign proclaimed that love charms were 20 percent off.  
  
"They must not work very well if they have them an sale," thought Felicity.  
  
The two had just about reached the elevators when they heard voices behind them.  
  
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Roger Williams from Salem; and who's that with him, his little girlfriend?" the loud, taunting voice called.  
  
Felicity wished for an invisibility charm right then. She blushed deeply and she and Roger turned around.  
  
"Ravenscroft," Roger whispered to her.  
  
Before them stood three boys, all dressed the same in white shirts with forest-green blazers and black trousers. Each had on a forest-green tie which, by the looks of them, had not ever been tied properly. On the ties was embroidered letter R.  
  
It was the center boy who had spoken to them. He was taller than the other two, who stood slightly behind him.  
  
"Say she's cute," said the boy to his left, just before the taller boy elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
"Leave her out of this, Murphy," Roger growled. "You're not still worked up over that last goal, are you?"  
  
"I'll deal with you this fall!" The tall boy warned as his companions grinned.  
  
"We'll see about that!" Roger replied in a low tone.  
  
"You fellows going up?" came a voice from behind Felicity. It was from the elf who ran the elevator.  
  
"Yes, we're going up," said Roger strongly, as he turned and guided Felicity into the old cage elevator.  
  
"What department?" The elf asked as he closed the gates.  
  
"We're looking for owls," Felicity offered. She was trying to break the tension she felt in the air.  
  
"Magical animals it is, then," said the elf as he pushed the lever on the elevator and they began rising. Roger glared at the three boys until they disappeared from view.  
  
"Who was that?" Felicity asked.  
  
"Ravenscroft guys," he said. "We beat them at Laquidd last fall. Seems like they haven't gotten over it, either."  
  
Ravenscroft was one of several other schools of wizardry and witchcraft in America. Felicity had remembered reading about some of them in the book her father had taken from her that day in June when they drove to Cape Cod.  
  
In Ravenscroft's case, it might be better called a school of wizardry only. For, while the other magical school had both boys and girls attending, Ravenscroft was all boys. They were, as Roger would tell her, Salem Academy's greatest rival in nearly every way.  
  
The Magical Animals Department carried a wide range of products from lizards and snakes to cats and owls.  
  
Felicity and Roger made their way over to the owl section, which was housed in the back. A large cage ran the length of the wall and that was, in turn, broken up into smaller cages. Owls of all description were on display.  
  
Felicity was taken with a great white owl until she saw the price. This, she thought, must have been one of those imported owls Mrs. Quimbly had referred to.  
  
"You'll want one that can carry a load," Roger advised, "so that your mother can send you treats now and then."  
  
Felicity stood looking at a barn owl. She figured such a common-looking bird might not be so likely to be shot.  
  
"May I help you, young lady?" The voice came from a sales clerk standing next to her.  
  
"I'm, I'm looking for an owl," Felicity said.  
  
The clerk looked at her school uniform. "I assume this is for school then," he said.  
  
"Yes, and I was told not to spend too much on one because they can get shot," she said qucikly.  
  
The clerk had obviously heard this instruction before. He looked at the owl in the cage before them. "This is an excellent buy, it's a barn owl able to carry a good-sized package from home if needed."  
  
The clerk was clearly skilled a promoting owls in members of the Entered class at Salem Academy, thought Felicity.  
  
"Does it come with a cage?" Felicity remembered her mother's instructions.  
  
"All of our owls come with a cage and a name," the clerk informed her. "His name is Solomon; would you like him?"  
  
"How much is he?" Felicity asked.  
  
"1 galleon, 15 sickles and 21 knuts."  
  
"Yes," Felicity said "I think I'll take him."  
  
"Very good. I'll get him ready for you, it will just be a moment. While you wait, perhaps you might find something that interests you in the book department." The clerk pointed to a display of books just beyond the cages.  
  
Roger was busy working on a deal for a Great Horned owl at the far end of the line of cages next to the books. Felicity walked over and began picking through the books on the sale table. One caught her eye. It was The Search for the Widow's Son.  
  
Felicity flipped it over and read the book's jacket. This is what it said:  
  
The Search for the Widow's Son, who will free the magical peoples of the Americas to return to their ancestral home of Salem, Massachusetts, is as much the story of the search for those can raise him as it is for the Widow's Son himself.  
  
For the curse, it is said, can only be broken when ÔThe Raisers' assemble in Salem to free the ÔWidow's Son' and the town itself from the curse placed upon it and restore Salem to its once important position in the American wizarding world.  
  
This book looks at the history of the ÔWidow's Son' and who he and ÔThe Raisers' might be.  
  
The book was only 26 knuts. Felicity decided to buy it. She walked back over to Roger, who had finished his purchase and was now holding the bird by means of a rather heavy leather glove on his right hand. The bird was perched on his arm.  
  
"He's a good one," Roger proclaimed proudly. "He should be able to carry anything my mom can make."  
  
The sales clerk returned with Felicity's owl placed in a cage and covered by a cloth.  
  
"I would like this book, as well," Felicity said holding out the book.  
  
The clerk took out a pad of paper and a pencil and worked some math. "Very well," said the clerk, "for the owl and the book, that will be two galleons, one sickle and eight knuts; tax, you know."  
  
Felicity reached into her pocket and showed Roger the coins. He picked out what she needed and she dropped the coins into the clerk's hand.  
  
The clerk then reached down to a coin dispenser attached to his belt and pressed a couple of buttons. He handed Felicity back her change and thanked her for her business.  
  
On the trolley ride back to Gringotts, Roger asked to see the book.  
  
"History," he frowned, "my worst subject."  
  
They arrived at Gringotts just as Felicity's father was leaving to go home. Martin Stockwell helped Felicity with the cage, which was quite a bit bigger and heavier than she had anticipated.  
  
Roger decided to see if his father was still at his office as he wanted to show off his new owl.  
  
Felicity waved goodbye to Roger and thanked him for his help in selecting Solomon. Roger waved back, his owl still perched on his arm.  
  
"That was nice of Roger to take the time to help you," Felicity's father said as they walked down the street.  
  
"Yes it was," thought Felicity. She noticed that odd little feeling again. 


	8. Chapter Seven The Book of Keys

Chapter Seven - The Book of Keys  
  
"We're going to be late!" It was Felicity's mother calling her from the sidewalk in front of their house. Felicity took one more glance around her room to make sure she had everything. She knew she could always send Solomon home but she wanted to make sure.  
  
At the last moment, before leaving the room, she snatched up her Teddy bear off her bed and dashed out the door and down the stairs to where her father and mother waited by the car.  
  
"Ready," her father said.  
  
"Yup," she answered as she slid into the back seat of the car next to Solomon's cage and the boxes of supplies.  
  
The supply list for Salem Academy resembled that of any New England prep school except for such items as wands, cauldrons, and books of magic spells and charms.  
  
The car set out and soon they were on the highway headed north, passing the suburban cities and towns that fan out to the west of Boston. The drive, her father had warned, would be a long one.  
  
Felicity couldn't help but think how much faster the trip would be had they flown, but with so much stuff to bring and her mother coming along, that really wasn't very practical.  
  
It was now September and the air had the first hints of fall. They drove up Interstate 95 and Felicity gazed out the window at the passing fields and forests, which gave way, now only occasionally, to a town. They drove past an exit sign for "Governor Dummer Academy."  
  
"What an odd name for a school," Felicity said to her father.  
  
"It is the oldest boarding school for non-magical peoples in America. You'll likely have occasion to visit there for sporting events."  
  
"You mean we play sports with regular schools?" For some reason, Felicity had imagined that Salem Academy only played magical sports against other schools of wizardry and witchcraft. It had not occurred to her that they would be competing against muggles.  
  
"Yes, of course you do, but they are all away games. And no using magic, you hear?" The sound in her father's voice told Felicity he was only half-kidding about the matter.  
  
They drove along through the Hampton Tolls in New Hampshire and, finally, across the bridge into Maine. A long drive still lay ahead of them. They stopped to eat in Portland at a restaurant that was on an old ferry boat docked in the harbor. Felicity thought how much Portland looked like Providence.  
  
The country grew more rural as they left Portland, still driving north. At Waterville, they left the Interstate and drove along the banks of the wild Kennebec River, which grew ever more wild as they proceeded north along its shores.  
  
The country grew wild as well, thought Felicity. What had once been small mill towns along the river gave way to tiny villages of white houses and fields cleared into the dense pine forests.  
  
"Father was right," Felicity thought to herself. "Salem is a long way up here." The air was now noticeably cooler and smelled of pine trees. A sign on the highway read, "Salem," with an arrow pointing to the left. Her father turned onto a even narrower road, rough and bumpy from years of hard winters.  
  
The road rose ever higher, twisting and turning as it went. Felicity was beginning to feel a bit sick, mostly from nerves, but the road wasn't helping matters any.  
  
Then the car broke out of the forest they had been in. Felicity looked up on the hill to see the great stone buildings that were Salem Academy.  
  
Salem Academy had been constructed over hundreds of years. Its buildings had suffered fires and other less natural calamities and had been rebuilt over and over again. The academy was, in many ways, the town itself. For, without the school, the tiny villiage of Salem would not have existed at all.  
  
One unique feature of the school was that it was possible to go to any part of it without going outdoors.  
  
"You'll come to appreciate that in February," Aunt Joan had told Felicity.  
  
The buildings were constructed to resemble a medeival castle and they enclosed a courtyard on three sides. A central tower which, from the looks of it thought Felicity, had never quite been finished, overlooked the river far below.  
  
The buildings were covered in ivy, which had crawled up the stone face and, in some cases, had completely overgrown the windows and doors. It could have been in Scotland or Germany from the looks of the place.  
  
Felicity's father carefully navigated the car through a narrow archway that led to a circular drive. He parked in front of the main entrance. "Here we are," he announced.  
  
Felicity got out and stretched. She was not accustomed to sitting for such a long time. Before her was a great oak door surrounded by a gothic arch. Above the arch was a granite stone, into which had been cut the words "Brattle Hall."  
  
The door opened and who should appear but Mr. Goldstine, the wizard she had first met with her father on her birthday. He was joined by a man who was clearly his grown son, the son's wife and girl about Felicity's age.  
  
Sarah Goldstine was a short girl with black curly hair, which she wore pulled back. She had more of a figure than did Felicity and that fact showed through her older sister's uniform, which seemed a bit to small for her. She wore round glasses with wire frames and had braces on her teeth.  
  
Her parents, Benjamin and Judith Goldstine, looked like grown-up versions of their children. Benjamin worked as magic inspector in the Commissioner's office as did his father. Judith's job was to worry about her children. They lived in Newport, Rhode Island, in a lovely old house, according to Felicity's mother. Sarah had three older married sisters, each of whom had attended Salem and, as Sarah's mother oftimes reminded her youngest daughter, had met their husbands here.  
  
"Now, Sarah," she said, "you be sure to wear a sweater each day up here. It can get cold up here, you know," she said in a worried way.  
  
It was still warm and hardly sweater weather.  
  
Sarah rolled her eyes a bit and said, "Yes, mother," in a way that said she had heard this kind of warning a bit too often for it to be effective any longer.  
  
"Judith, she'll be fine. Come over and say hello to the Stockwells." Benjamin guided his wife over to Felicity and her parents. Grimsby Goldstine spoke up.  
  
"Sarah," he said in a voice that was a bit too loud for the occasion, "this is Felicity Stockwell, the girl I told you about."  
  
"Hi," Sarah said shyly.  
  
"Hi," Felicity answered.  
  
The two girls stood there, feeling awkward, while their parents chatted away for a bit until a tall lanky man in a tweed suit coat and khaki slacks came out the door.  
  
Dr. Daniel Johannes Kepler Mather, OMEW, was the newly appointed headmaster, having only been at Salem Academy a few years. He had replaced a woman who was practically a legend in the wizarding world in America --- Miss Eva Pratt Brattle.  
  
Mather was from an old family and was one of the very few American wizards to be educated at the lengendary Hogwarts School in England. He had come from there to teach sacred geometry and history at a number of American schools of wizardry and witchcraft, including St. Jeanne d'Ark School in Quebec and Ravenscroft.  
  
He spoke several languages fluently, including a few long assumed to be dead. He was precise and a stickler for details.  
  
Dr. Mather approached the group and was greeted by Grimsby Goldstine in his customary manner.  
  
"Mather!" he enjoined.  
  
Sarah started to giggle, which, of course, caused Felicity to do the same. Dr. Mather was clearly not accustomed to being referred to in such a casual manner.  
  
Martin Stockwell, banker that he was, knew better. He extended his hand and said, "Dr. Mather, Martin Stockwell."  
  
Once all the introductions of the adults had been dealt with, the attention then turned to the girls.  
  
The introductions were made and Dr. Mather shook their hands, calling each Miss Goldstine and Miss Stockwell.  
  
"Miss Stockwell" sounded funny to Felicity.  
  
"May I suggest that we have these young ladies come in and sign the Book of Keys?" Dr. Mather gestured for them to enter the great oak door.  
  
It was cool and dim in the great hall of Salem Academy. Felicity looked up at the ceiling with its dark wood. She could hear their footsteps as they walked down the hall. On the walls hung plaster reliefs of Greek gods and goddesses, with flowing robes placed over their bodies in all the important places. From time to time, one of these would move so as to follow the small procession as it walked toward the "Hall of Assembly."  
  
The Hall of Assembly was a narrow hall with benches along both sides; each side of the room had four levels with seating for about 20 on each level. In the center of the room was a massive table with an equally massive book opened on it. Next to it was an inkwell and quill pen.  
  
At the far end of the room was a group of chairs and a rostrum for a speaker.  
  
On the walls were paintings of past headmasters and mistresses of the school, who gazed down on the little group with sour-looking faces.  
  
The ceiling was made of oak beams and woodwork, into which had been carved gargoyles. Flagpoles stuck out from the walls; each held the flag of a state or nation from whence a student had attended. Felicity noted the blue and white flag of Rhode Island with its state motto, "Hope."  
  
Dr. Mather informed the girls that this room was only used for schoolwide meetings and that each class was appointed a particular place to sit. The Master class sat on the ground level and the others each sat further up. The Entered class, which was theirs, sat on the back row.  
  
Dr. Mather led them to the book.  
  
This, he explained, was the Book of Keys, Salem Academy's oldest tradition. Every student who entered the school had signed their names in the book and received the key to the room that they would live in for the next four years. Because the book gave out the keys, it also decided the roommates, as well. In all the years of doing so, the book had never failed to choose roommates who were not compatible with each other.  
  
"Remarkable," said Felicity's mother. "Some of us were not compatible even in college, let alone high school," she said.  
  
"The book will also give each student a bit of advice or, as they are known, a motto, after they sign," Mr. Goldstine said.  
  
Dr. Mather removed the quill pen from the inkwell and held it out to Sarah. "Miss Goldstine..."  
  
Sarah took the pen and in round plump letters wrote, "Sarah Judith Goldstine." As she lifted the pen, the words "Steadfast and loyal" materialized under her name. Then there was a glow from the book and upon its page lay a brass key. Sarah picked it up. It was an old style door key with a wood insert and a leather strap tied to it.  
  
Judith Goldstine offered the advice. "You keep your key around you neck so you won't lose it."  
  
Next it was Felicity's turn. She walked up to the book and looked down at the pages of names. Some of the family names she recognized from her reading: Carrier, Jacobs, Procter, Good. Others she did not: Wellstone, Abarba, Chen.  
  
Felicity took the pen from the inkwell and carefully wrote her full name, "Felicity Anne Stockwell." The book paused for a moment as her father looked over her shoulders, then the words "Shall open that which was locked" appeared on the page under her name. And then Felicity's key appeared.  
  
"How curious," her father said. "Your motto is as strange as mine was."  
  
"What was yours, Father?" Felicity asked. Felicity's mother stepped closer. She, too, was about to learn something of Martin Stockwell's past that she had heretofore not known.  
  
Martin Stockwell stepped up to the book and carefully turned back the pages until he came to the year 1972. He went down the list until he came to his name.  
  
Felicity looked at the old handwriting: "Martin David Stockwell III: From him shall come light."  
  
"You're right, Martin, these are strange little sayings, aren't they?" Anne Stockwell said.  
  
"Most people can't even remember theirs," said Grimsby Goldstine, trying to lighten the mood a bit.  
  
"We should get the girls settled," Sarah's mother suggested.  
  
"Of course," said Dr. Mather. "Feel free to use the main doors of Franklin Hall to unload."  
  
And, with that, the girls were led out of the Hall of Assembly.  
  
Felicity blinked in the bright September sun which greeted them. "I guess we really are Salem Academy girls now," she said to Sarah.  
  
"Yup, no turning back now," Sarah said with a smile.  
  
"So, what room are you in?" Felicity's mother asked.  
  
In all the talk about their mottoes, the girls had completely forgotten to look at the room numbers which were stamped onto the ends of the keys.  
  
"319," Sarah said, looking at the key which hung from her neck.  
  
Felicity opened her hand and looked down at the key. It said 319 as well.  
  
"Well, I'll be!" said Grimsby Goldstine. "In all the years I have been hearing about this, this is the first time that I can recall that roommates ever signed the book at the same time. It's just like I told you back in Providence, Martin. They are roommates, after all! How about that?"  
  
"I've never heard of such a thing," added Sarah's mother.  
  
"Neither have I," said her father.  
  
The task of carrying all of Felicity's and Sarah's belongings up three flights of stairs would have been daunting but for the fact that Dr. Mather had dispatched several Master class boys to aid in the task. One was Roger's older brother.  
  
"You must be Felicity," he said to her as he carried a box up the stairs. "My little brother's told me about you."  
  
"He has?" Felicity felt a bit conspicuous for some reason. She wondered just what Roger had said about her to his brother.  
  
Franklin Hall Room 319 looked out over the courtyard. It was a small room with two beds, two desks and two dressers, as well as two closets. The room had dark wood wainscoting on the wall and each desk had a small lamp with a green Tiffany shade, the type found in libraries.  
  
Felicity chose the bed on the right. Her father turned the small crank that opened the window.  
  
"You girls should let the owls out," he said.  
  
Felicity and Sarah took the cages over to the window and opened the doors. The owls proceeded to flutter out and perch on the ledge outside the window.  
  
"They'll be fine there," Benjamin Goldstine said. "At night they will fly off for food, but in daylight, they will stay right here should you need them."  
  
After a bit, the belongings had been stored. It came time for Felicity's and Sarah's parents to leave. As they stood in the courtyard saying their good-byes, Felicity suddenly felt alone for the first time in her life.  
  
Sarah's mother kissed her daughter and reminded her to keep warm, to eat only food that was kosher, and to put on an extra blanket tonight because it was cold up here in Maine.  
  
In a moment, the parents were driving out the gate and down the road. Felicity felt as if she might cry, except for he fact that Roger had landed on a broom beside her. He studied her face for a moment and then said, "Hi, Felicity, do you want to go to supper?"  
  
Roger was just back from LaQuidd practice and was sweaty and, to be frank about it, smelled rather badly. But the sight of him seemed to lift Felicity's spirits some. She introduced him to Sarah and the three of them headed off to the dining hall.  
  
Eva Pratt Brattle stood looking out over the courtyard from the top floor of the central tower as students came and went in the last of the afternoon sun. She watched the three young students walking across the grass. The dark-haired girl whose sisters had been Miss Brattle's students, the boy in his athletics clothing carrying a LaQuidd stick and broom, and the young slight girl with the dark red hair.  
  
"The Raisers," Eva said to herself. 


	9. Chapter Eight The rules of the game

Chapter Eight - The rules of the game  
  
"You really should try it, Felicity," Miss Peters, the Elfin teacher and dorm mother, was trying to convince Felicity to try out for the girls' LaQuidd team.  
  
"Yes," chimed in Sarah, "you should. "Your flying is really good."  
  
"Best in the Entered Class, if you ask me," Miss Peters said.  
  
Felicity wrinkled her nose. "I don't know... I've never played many sports," she said. "I don't even know how LaQuidd is played; who's going to teach me?"  
  
"I bet Roger would teach you!" Sarah suggested. Sarah and Miss Peters giggled at this suggestion.  
  
"Sarah!" Felicity didn't like to think that her feelings for Roger were so transparent to everyone. Everyone, that is, except for Roger.  
  
"He would be happy to teach you, if he is any kind of a gentleman." The voice was that of Benjamin Franklin or, to be more precise, the painting of Franklin that hung over the fireplace in the reception room of Franklin Hall.  
  
Franklin, or Ben, as the girls had taken to calling him, was in the habit of inserting himself into their affairs upon the slightest provocation.  
  
"A young man should always stand ready to assist a young lady in whatever it is she might be in need of," Franklin went on. "I shall take it upon myself to inform him of your desire for his assistance the next time I speak with Master Williams."  
  
"Don't you dare!" Felicity shot back at the painting. "I'll do it myself."  
  
"Very well, then," Franklin replied.  
  
Felicity didn't notice Franklin wink at Sarah and Miss Peters as they left the room.  
  
As it turned out, Roger was more than happy to teach Felicity the rules of LaQuidd. For this afforded Roger an excellent reason to spend some time with her, something he didn't mind in the least.  
  
Roger took Felicity out onto the LaQuidd pitch to explain the game to her.  
  
LaQuidd he told her, is a combination of two separate sports; a magical one for Europe called Quidditch and the native American sport called lacrosse. Quidditch had never taken hold in America for reasons that are not clear.  
  
"Dr. Mather thinks Quidditch is the greatest sport ever invented, to hear him talk," Roger told Felicity as he was trying to explain the game.  
  
LaQuidd did share two things from the old game of Quidditch, however. It was played on broomsticks and it used a ball known as a Snitch. The Snitch in LaQuidd, though, is somewhat bigger than the one used in Quidditch, according to Roger.  
  
"Was that what you gave me for my birthday?" Felicity asked as he was explaining the rules to her.  
  
"Yes," he said. "That Snitch was the one with which I scored the winning goal against Ravencroft. I had to remove the wings or it would have flown all around the room and they can be kinda dangerous in enclosed places."  
  
Roger went on to explain that, in LaQuidd, the teams attempt to catch the Snitch in baskets attached to the ends of sticks. These sticks were developed from the American Indian sport of lacrosse.  
  
The force with which you could throw a Snitch from one of these sticks was very great and, for a moment, it prevented the Snitch from being able to use its wings to avoid landing in the goal. The goals themselves were five-foot square and were elevated 10 feet above the ground. The players, flying on brooms, pass the Snitch from player to player and attempt to throw it into to the goal before it starts flying on its own.  
  
"You have to be quick," Roger told Felicity. "The Snitch can fly very fast and once it gets it wings working, it can be very difficult to catch again." With that, Roger removed a ball from a small leather bag he had brought with him. "It's a practice Snitch," he informed Felicity. "It does not fly near as fast as a real one."  
  
He released the ball, which instantly took wing and began to dart about. "See if you can catch it with your stick."  
  
Felicity swung the stick at the small ball several times before snaring it in the basket at the end of the stick.  
  
"Now throw it to me," Roger said. "Remember to use only one hand; you have to hold onto the broom, you know."  
  
Felicity flicked the ball in the general direction of Roger. The Snitch flew along for a bit before stopping in mid-air and taking flight in a different direction than that in which she had thrown it. Felicity could see how this could be a difficult game.  
  
"Roger?" Felicity asked as they walked up the hill from the LaQuidd pitch. "Couldn't you throw a Snitch faster and better if you used both hands on the stick?"  
  
"You sure could," said Roger, "but how would you stay on your broom while you did it?"  
  
"I don't know, but if you could, it would be a lot better. Is it against the rules to use both hands?" Felicity asked.  
  
"I don't think so. I don't think the rules say anything about it, but I've never seen anyone do it, either."  
  
Felicity determined then and there that she would perfect a means of staying on the broom while using both hands to thrown the Snitch.  
  
That night at supper, Felicity told Miss Peters of her decision to play LaQuidd.  
  
"That's great!" said Miss Peters, who was always optimistic about everything, it seemed.  
  
"You'll do great," Sarah said. "I wish I could fly well enough to play."  
  
Sarah Goldstine was perhaps the worst flyer at Salem. People were genuinely frightened to watch her on a broom. She would dive and bob for no reason and, on several occasions, had narrowly missed the buildings, pushing away from them with her feet just in time.  
  
Toby Miller, a boy in the Fellowcraft class, had become so alarmed by Sarah's flying that he had insisted she fly with him from the LaQuidd pitch, a few days back, lest she hurt herself.  
  
"I really much prefer flying with Toby than doing it myself," Sarah had confided to Felicity that evening as they lay in bed.  
  
"What girl wouldn't?" thought Felicity.  
  
After supper, Felicity asked Sarah to join her out on the back lawn behind Franklin Hall.  
  
"What's up?" Sarah asked as the two walked. Felicity carried her broom.  
  
"I want to figure out a way to fly without having to hold onto the broom with my hands," Felicity announced.  
  
"You want to do what?" Flying for Sarah was a difficult enough proposition using her hands to hold onto the broom. In her mind, trying to do it without holding on was suicide.  
  
"You heard me. If I can figure out a way to do that, I could use both hands to throw the Snitch farther and faster."  
  
Felicity climbed onto her broom and had it float slightly into the air. Then she wrapped her legs tightly around the back of the broomstick and let go with her hands. She fell off almost at once.  
  
"Are you all right?" Sarah cried. Sarah was, in many ways, like her mother. She tended to worry a great deal about the welfare of others.  
  
"I'm fine," Felicity said, getting up. "Let's try again."  
  
After several attempts, Felicity found that she could float in the air on the broom with both hands free. Using one leg she was able to control speed and direction.  
  
Sarah looked on, envious of Felicity's natural flying ability.  
  
Over the next weeks, Felicity perfected the technique. She also swore Sarah to absolute secrecy in the matter. She never revealed her newfound skill to anyone else, even to her coach, Mrs. Dow.  
  
Mrs. Dow was the wife of the English Master. A pleasant woman, the mother of two young boys, she was one of the few muggles in town. She had, however, played lacrosse in college and, by means of that experience, had been pressed into service as the girls' LaQuidd coach.  
  
The day was fast approaching for the first match of the year. Two games were to be played, one boys' and one girls', against St. Jeanne d'Ark School of Quebec.  
  
"They're good," warned Mrs. Dow. "LaQuidd was invented in Quebec and they think of it as their national sport up there," she continued.  
  
Salem's prospects were not helped in the matter by the lack of girls interested in playing LaQuidd. The sport had the reputation of being rough and Mrs. Dow had had to work to round up enough girls interested in playing. She had been thankful when Felicity appeared at practice, given her reputation as a good flyer.  
  
Game day finally came and Felicity found herself on the pitch with eleven other Salem girls, facing the team from St. Jeanne d'Ark. "They look so big," Felicity thought, as they flew into position. Indeed they were. St. Jeanne d'Ark School never had any difficulty fielding a LaQuidd team and most of the girls were either Fellowcraft or Master age.  
  
The referee came out onto the field and, after making sure all was ready, tossed the Snitch into the air. Twenty two girls on brooms, carrying sticks, instantly became airborne and began a mad scamble to capture the Snitch.  
  
Within a few minutes, a girl from Jeanne d'Ark had it in her reach and snapped a pass to a teammate. Girls dove and rose in a confusing scene and then, in an instant, Jeanne d'Ark scored a goal.  
  
LaQuidd is a low-scoring game. Even the best of players find it difficult to chase the wildly moving Snitch and control the broom at the same time.  
  
The game continued, each side frantically trying to capture the small ball and gain some control over its flight.  
  
Late in the second half of play, Marta Good managed to capture it and fling the ball into the goal as she flew by. As she did so, however, she lost control of her broom and tumbled to the ground, hurting her arm.  
  
The score stood tied at 1-1.  
  
Felicity didn't feel like she had been much help to her team. She had not even captured the Snitch once, but she kept trying, hoping her luck would change.  
  
With only a few minutes to play, the referee again tossed the Snith into the air. It traveled up a ways and then darted toward Felicity. As if by instinct, Felicity raised her stick just as the Snitch flew into it. For an instant, Felicity was surprised, then the tucked her legs under herself and sped toward the goal.  
  
In LaQuidd, most goals are made from fairly close to the goal. If you were to shoot from too far out, the Snitch would have time to regain its flight and dart away.  
  
Felicity was quite a ways from the goal when she wrapped her legs tightly around the broomstick and, grabbing the stick with both hands, hurled the Snitch in the direction of the goal.  
  
The Snitch left Felicity's stick like a bullet fired from a gun and flew through the air in a straight line. As it slammed into the netting at the back of the goal, a cheer went up from the Salem side of the field.  
  
Felicity grabbed hold of the broom and swung it around, just as the horn sounded, ending the game.  
  
The scene that greeted her, however, was one of confusion. Several of the girls from Jeanne d'Ark were standing in front of the referee arguing loudly in French and broken English. The Jeanne d'Ark coach was making her way toward the referee, as was Mrs. Dow.  
  
Mary Jacobs came along side Felicity. "Where did you learn to do that!" she said, breathless from the closing minutes of the game.  
  
The Salem side of the field, which moments ago had been rejoicing in the victory, now turned quiet. The two coaches, accompanied by the Jeanne d'Ark captain and Ruth Hagen, the Salem captain, stood in the center of the field engaged in an animated conversation. The referee had removed a small book from his pocket and was consulting its pages.  
  
After a bit, the Jeanne d'Ark girls left the field. One glared over at Felicity as she walked away. The referee turned to the scorer's table and said in a loud voice, "The goal stands!"  
  
The Salem students and faculty erupted once again in cheers. Several girls rushed Felicity and hugged her. The boys' team whooped and hollered and threw their sticks into the air.  
  
Mrs. Dow met Felicity at the side of the field. "Good job!" she said. "I didn't know if using two hands on the stick was legal but there is no rule against it."  
  
It was the first time in many years that Salem girls had won a game against Jeanne d'Ark. "It's sure to make the sports pages!" Roger gushed. "I don't think anyone's ever used both hands on the stick like that before."  
  
That night at supper, Felicity was the center of attention. The victory against Jeanne d'Ark had been the highlight of the week. The boys had lost their match, partly because several of them had attempted the same move and had fallen off their brooms in the process. This made the girls in school feel particularly proud of the accomplishment.  
  
Dr. Mather made it a point to congratulate Miss Good and Miss Stockwell on their performances on the LaQuidd pitch that day.  
  
That evening, several of the boys came up and asked Felicity to show them how to handle a LaQuidd stick with both hands. Felicity smiled and promised to teach them. In fact, the boys' coach had already arranged with Mrs. Dow for Felicity to show the entire team the technique.  
  
That night, Felicity wrote her parents telling them of the day's excitement. She asked her father to please save any copies of the American Prophet that might mention the game. She folded up the letter and send Solomon on his way with it.  
  
By the time Solomon arrived at 23 Waybosset St., however, several other owls had arrived at the Stockwell home bringing word of Felicity's achievement. 


	10. Chapter Nine Three wizards assembled

Chapter Nine - Three wizards assembled  
  
"I really should be doing my spells homework rather than reading this book," thought Felicity, as she sat in the small room of the library reading The Search for the Widow's Son.  
  
It was true that spells and charms class had taken a back seat of late and she really did need to pull her grade up a bit. She was nearly finished with the book, however.  
  
The Search for the Widow's Son had proven to be somewhat interesting, if a bit uninformative. It turns out that very little was known about either the Widow's Son or those known as The Raisers. What was known wasn't of much use.  
  
The Widow's Son was believed to be a child of a Salem family who had fought against the hysteria, which had gripped the community in 1692. Because he had represented a threat to the first lord's plan to control the magical and non-magical people of America, he had been placed in what the book called "the tweens."  
  
He could not be raised from the tweens except by three wizards called "The Raisers." Over the centuries, several attempts had been made by powerful wizards and witches to break the spell, but each had failed. The problem was that wizards could not enter Salem because of the curse placed on the town, which prevented wizards from ever setting foot on Salem's soil. Thus, the Widow's Son remained forever trapped in the tweens and Salem remained forever closed to magical people.  
  
One fact which did catch Felicity's attention, however, was that the Raisers each had to have a connection to three of the four houses of the ancient wizarding school in England known as Hogwarts: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. The fourth house, the book had said, was Slytherin; it had been the house of the first lord and, so, it was believed, was unwelcome as part of the Raisers.  
  
Gryffindor, Felicity recalled, was the house that her great-grandfather had been in. Felicity wondered what all this talk of houses at school was about.  
  
Salem Academy had dormitories: Franklin Hall for the girls, presided over by the Dows and the animated picture of Ben in the reception room; and Dickinson Hall for the boys, managed by Dr. Foymal, the instructor in Defense of the Black Arts and Advanced Magic. Dickinson had its picture as well, that of the poet Emily Dickinson.  
  
Sarah had found it funny that the girls' dormitory had been named for a man and the boys' for a woman.  
  
Felicity decided that she would ask Dr. Mather about Hogwarts' houses the next time she had the chance. He had gone to Hogwarts and would know.  
  
At first' Felicity didn't notice the strange little woman standing in the doorway. When she did, it startled her and she wondered just how long she might have been there.  
  
The woman was no taller that Felicity herself. She was very old and dressed entirely in black from head to toe. She carried a black cane with a lion's head carved into the top of the handle. Despite her small stature, there was a presence about the woman that made Felicity stand up from the desk.  
  
"Come with me," the woman said in a clear commanding voice.  
  
Felicity generally liked to know why she was doing something before undertaking a task, but there was something about the woman that seemed to demand that she follow her instructions. They walked through the stacks of the library until they came to a small door at the end of one of the rows.  
  
The woman took out a brass key and unlocked the door. It opened onto a small winding staircase that led upwards. Felicity followed the woman as she slowly made her way up the stairs. The stairs had a musty odor to them, as if they had not been used for some time. Felicity noticed footsteps in the dust of the treads.  
  
The woman opened the door at the top of the stairs. She led Felicity into the dark-paneled room. The place smelled of spells being brewed, and dust. Every surface seemed covered with books, papers and other such items. Cages for owls hung from hooks in the ceiling. Whoever this woman was, thought Felicity, she made her Aunt Joan look like Martha Stewart as far as housekeeping was concerned.  
  
"Please join your friends," the woman said, pointing to Sarah and Roger on the other side of the room.  
  
Felicity went over to the two. In a whisper, she asked, "What's this about?"  
  
The both gave her looks which told her they had no idea, either.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" The woman asked.  
  
No one answered. "I am Miss Brattle," she continued. "I was the headmistress here for many years until I retired. The school has been kind enough to permit me to stay on here in the tower for my remaining days, given my many years of service.  
  
"I have something for each of you."  
  
Miss Brattle reached down and pushed aside some papers on a low table next to her chair. She picked up three flat boxes and handed one to each of the puzzled students who stood before her.  
  
"Go ahead, open them," she instructed. As they did, she continued, "It's October and it's getting colder; I thought you might need these."  
  
In each box was a knitted scarf. Sarah's was yellow and black, Roger's blue and silver, and Felicity's gold and scarlet.  
  
"They will keep you warm this winter," Miss Brattle said with a smile.  
  
"Thank you," said Sarah; the others thanked her, as well.  
  
"But why us?" asked Roger.  
  
"I felt you three needed these more than the others," the woman answered. "And there is one more thing." She handed Felicity an envelope. "When you leave here, read this to your friends. Show it to NO ONE else."  
  
With that, she led the three down the narrow stairs to the library.  
  
"What is it," Sarah steamed, "about older magical people that they always want to talk in riddles!"  
  
"What's in the note?" Roger said, looking at the envelope.  
  
Felicity turned the envelope over and noticed that it was sealed with wax, into which had been impressed the image of a lion. She broke the seal and removed the note inside:  
  
Upon the morning of the day when night is the same.  
  
Go to the rest of those who have gone before.  
  
Look to the east.  
  
"See what I mean..." Sarah fumed, "another riddle."  
  
Felicity was beginning to understand what Sarah meant. For it seemed to her that since discovering her family's secret, there were as many unanswered questions as there were answers in the wizarding world.  
  
"I wonder what it means," Roger said.  
  
"It's as if she wanted us to know something more," Felicity said, puzzling over the note.  
  
"But why not just tell us?" Sarah asked. "Why all this note business?"  
  
"Maybe she doesn't know," Roger said. "This note looks very old and no one has used wax to seal letters in a very long time. Maybe she didn't write it."  
  
"Well, whoever wrote it this will have to wait," Sarah said. "We'll be late for formal supper."  
  
The formal supper was held once a month. It was one of those occasions that Felicity's grandfather had mentioned when a student might wear the tie of their choosing. This was the first one of the school year and Felicity was eager to see what Aunt Joan had referred to about the unusual ties.  
  
Felicity stood in front of the mirror in her room, tying her great-grandfather Weasly's tie around her neck. She finally finished and tucked the remainder of it into her vest. Sarah had on a blue and white tie with small blue six-pointed stars woven into the fabric.  
  
"My rabbi in Newport gave it to me," she said, admiring the tie in the mirror with Felicity. "How about yours?"  
  
"It was my great-grandfather's," Felicity said.  
  
"Better not spill anything on it," Sarah warned.  
  
"You're the one with the white tie," Felicity said, joking. Felicity was aware of the dangers of eating a meal with the old tie on. It was for that reason that she had decided to wear the vest, as well, in hopes of keeping as much of the tie covered as possible.  
  
The two girls checked themselves over one last time, tugging at their clothing to insure it was in the proper location, before heading down to supper.  
  
"My aunt was right," Felicity whispered to Sarah as they came into the dining hall. The place was alive with ties of all types, including ones that glowed or had figures that moved like little cartoons. In the dim light of the dining hall, the array of ties gave off strange effects that flickered and danced.  
  
At formal suppers, each table was assigned a student to act as a waiter. At Felicity and Sarah's table, that student was Anne Francis, a Master class girl, who did not like the assignment much. She moped through supper trying to get everyone to eat as quickly as possible so the chore might be finished.  
  
"It makes for a rather unpleasant meal," thought Felicity.  
  
As Felicity and Sarah were leaving, there was a voice from behind them. "Miss Stockwell..." It was Dr. Mather.  
  
"Your tie," he said, as the two girls turned.  
  
Felicity looked down at the tie, half-expecting to find a stain of some kind. To her relief, there was none. "Yes?" she said.  
  
"Where did you come by a Gryffindor tie?" he asked.  
  
"It was my great-grandfather's tie. He was from England." Felicity figured that this was as good a time as any to ask Dr. Mather about the houses at Hogwarts. "He went to Hogwarts School there," she continued.  
  
"As did I," Dr. Mather said, with a air of pride in the matter.  
  
"Dr. Mather, what are the houses at Hogwarts?" Felicity asked.  
  
Dr. Mather always took great delight in anyone asking after Hogwarts and was happy to answer Felicity's question. He explained that, in English boarding schools, it was common for the students to be assigned to "houses" in which they would live with other students for the time that they were in school. The houses had students of all ages in them and, in the case of Hogwarts, each house had a section for boys and girls.  
  
The houses at Hogwarts had been named for each of the four founders of the school and, like the classes at Salem, each had their own colors.  
  
Dr. Mather said that he would bring Felicity a book about Hogwarts to supper the following evening.  
  
"Dr. Mather?" Felicity asked, as she was about to leave, "Which house were you in?"  
  
"Why, Slytherin," he smiled, "the best house there is." 


	11. Chapter Ten There are worse things, Mas...

Chapter Ten - There are worse things, Master Williams  
  
"I sure hope Toby asks me to the dance," sighed Sarah, as she looked out the window of Franklin Hall 319 at the falling leaves.  
  
"I hope he does, too," thought Felicity to herself. Sarah had been pining away over Toby Miller since that day when he had taken her flying, more out of pity than anything else. In Sarah's imagination, however, it had been the start of a stirring romance.  
  
Unfortunately for Sarah, Toby Miller seemed not to share the same degree of interest. While he was friendly enough toward her, it was clear to everyone, except Sarah, the he was simply being polite.  
  
Felicity had tried to figure out some way to gently let Sarah know what the situation was. Even Roger had noticed. But Sarah seemed determined that it was meant to be.  
  
"You know," Felicity offered, "there are plenty of Entered and Apprentice class boys in school."  
  
"I know..." Sarah said, her mind clearly on Toby.  
  
Felicity could see that there was no use talking about it, so she gathered up her books and headed for the library. On the way there, she ran into Roger.  
  
"Ah... Felicity," he said, with a voice that made it sound like there was something more he wanted to say. "Can I talk to you?"  
  
"Of course you can," she answered.  
  
"It's about Sarah," he said, looking down at the floor.  
  
The thought of Roger and Sarah flashed across Felicity's mind. For a moment she felt a wave of jealousy sweep over her, a feeling she quickly repressed.  
  
"I shouldn't tell you this, but Toby Miller is taking Marta to the dance." Roger looked like he had just told Felicity a deep secret, but anyone who had seen Toby and Marta together might well have guessed it; anyone, that is, except Sarah. "I know she has a crush on him, something wicked. I thought you being her roommate you could find some way of letting her know, you know, without hurting her too much."  
  
Felicity thought back to the girl she had just left, staring out the window wishing for all the world for Toby's owl to fly up carrying an invitation to the Halloween Dance. There was no way to tell her about this without her getting hurt.  
  
"Well, I'd better be going," Roger said, as he headed down the stairway.  
  
Felicity walked slowly down the hall. So there would be no owl bringing an invitation to Sarah from Toby. This was sure to make Sarah very difficult to live with.  
  
Felicity thought that she might be able to find another boy to take Sarah, but, outside of Roger, she really didn't know too many of the boys that well. Not well enough to recruit them for something like this, anyway. And she was sure that Roger would be asking her. At least, she thought he would; come to think of it, Roger's owl had not paid a visit to Franklin Hall 319, either.  
  
Felicity sat in the library trying to remember the words to the spell that would turn a pencil into a snake. So far she had succeeded only in turning it into a bit of string and a rather sticky worm. She took a break and looked out the window. The fall leaves had turned the blue-green hills into a blaze of orange, yellow and red. High on the mountains to the west, a slight dusting of snow could be seen.  
  
Far down the hill Felicity could see the steeple of the church poking up from around the trees. The Salem Congregational Church sat below the school, with a few white houses around it. Next to it was the cemetery, with its iron fence and its stones, which, as is the tradition in New England, all faced east.  
  
Faced east. The idea caught in Felicity's mind for a moment. She turned and dug through her books, eventually retrieving the note that Miss Brattle had given her. She read the note over:  
  
Upon the morning of the day when night is the same.  
  
Go to the rest of those who have gone before.  
  
Look to the east.  
  
Go to the rest of those who have gone before.  
  
Could it be that it meant the village graveyard? As Felicity thought about it, it seemed to make sense to her. It was, as the note said, the place of "rest of those who have gone before." And all the stones did face east.  
  
The doors of the library swung open with a bang that startled Felicity. She pushed the note into her pocket and went back to her book, in the corner where she had been working.  
  
David Good, Steven Williams and Roger came plowing into the library.  
  
"So, little brother, have you asked Felicity to the dance yet?" Steven Williams teased.  
  
Felicity sank back lower in her chair, pulling the book up to cover her face.  
  
"Felicity Stockwell?" David asked. "She's cute, I guess."  
  
"Roger here thinks she hot!" Steven said, pushing at his brother's shoulder.  
  
Felicity could feel herself getting warm.  
  
"Oh yes," Steven went on. "Roger here has been sweet on Felicity since the second grade, haven't you, Roger?"  
  
Roger would have taken a swing at his older brother right then but for the fact that Steven had a good 30 pounds on Roger and could have floored him.  
  
"It's none of your business," Roger hissed at his brother, "but I sent the owl over this afternoon."  
  
The owl! Felicity eyes grew wide with concern. Sarah is waiting for an owl! The last thing Sarah needed was to have an owl show up only to have the invitation be for me and not her, Felicity thought to herself.  
  
But Felicity was trapped in the corner of the library with the boys between her and the door. If she got up now, they would know that she had heard the whole conversation. She sunk down even lower in her chair.  
  
The boys, meanwhile, carried on, evaluating the relative merits of several of the girls at school. Some of it was not very nice, Felicity thought. She was developing a particularly low impression of David Good.  
  
After what seemed an eternity to Felicity, the boys finally left the library. Felicity gathered up her books and dashed down the hall to Franklin Hall. She went charging up the back stairs and opened the door to Room 319.  
  
Sarah stood next to the open window. A great horned owl was the ledge outside. In her hand she held an envelope. Felicity could see the beginnings of tears welling up in Sarah's large brown eyes. Sarah held out the envelope to Felicity and said, "it's for you," just before collapsing on her bed in tears.  
  
Felicity sat on the edge of Sarah's bed, not really knowing what she should do. She looked down at the note with Roger's careful handwriting on it. She knew what it was and so did Sarah. Sarah buried her head in her pillow and the wide assortment of stuffed animals she kept on her bed.  
  
"Toby's not going to ask me to the dance, is he?" Sarah finally said, lifting up her head. Her face was all red and puffy; her black curly hair a rumpled mess.  
  
"I don't think so," Felicity said.  
  
"Oh, Felicity, what am I going to do? The dance is only a week away!" Sarah's eyes grew wide with the kind of look you see when an animal is trapped in the oncoming headlights of a car.  
  
Felicity sat on the bed. She had no idea what Sarah should do. She looked at her note and then at Sarah, who had gone down into her pillow for another bout of tears. After a bit, Sarah stopped crying and sat up.  
  
"Thank you," she said.  
  
"You're welcome," Felicity answered, though she did not know for what.  
  
"Aren't you going to read your letter?" Sarah asked.  
  
Felicity opened the letter and read it:  
  
Felicity,  
  
Would you like to go to the Halloween Dance with me next Saturday?  
  
I will come over to Franklin Hall tomorrow after supper for your answer.  
  
Roger  
  
"You're lucky," Sarah said, sniffling. "You have such a good friend in Roger."  
  
"Roger's your friend, too." The moment the words came out of her mouth Felicity had an idea. The only problem was she needed it to be Roger's idea and not hers. She considered casting a spell on Roger but thought the better of it. Felicity's spells had a way of going wrong sometimes and this was no matter to leave to chance.  
  
Sarah finally pulled herself out of her bad mood and decided to take a shower before supper. Felicity ran down the stairs to talk to Ben.  
  
The picture of Ben Franklin listened while Felicity explained Sarah's problem and her idea to solve it.  
  
"Of course, I would be more than happy to help. Now, tomorrow evening you stay up in your room for a bit while I have a chat with Master Williams," Franklin said. "Besides, a young lady should always keep a young man waiting a while for her."  
  
The following evening, Roger Williams came to Franklin Hall to receive his answer. He asked Miss Peters go and get Felicity as she was not in the Reception Room when he got there. Once alone with Roger, Ben Franklin went to work.  
  
"Master Williams, you are here for Miss Stockwell, I presume?" he asked.  
  
"Uh... yes," Roger said.  
  
"I understand you have asked her to accompany you to the dance this Saturday," Ben went on.  
  
"Yes..." Roger was beginning to wonder where this might be leading.  
  
"Master Williams, take it from and old hand when it come to dealing with the fairer sex. If you want to keep them happy, you will keep their friends happy, as well." Franklin said.  
  
"What?" Roger asked.  
  
"Miss Goldstine is in need of an escort to the dance, also," Ben went on. "It would serve you well, young man, if you offered to have her accompany you and Miss Stockwell."  
  
"I... I don't know what would Felicity think of that." Roger looked up at Ben.  
  
"I can assure you, Master Williams, such as offer will put you in a most excellent position in Miss Stockwell's mind. Besides, there are worse things, Master Williams, than being able to escort two lovely young ladies to a dance. I can assure you of that."  
  
At this, Felicity, who had been listening with Miss Peters, just out of sight, came into the room.  
  
"Hi, Felicity, did you get my note?" Roger asked.  
  
"Yes," Felicity said.  
  
"And?"  
  
"I would be happy to go to the dance with you Roger, but there is a problem."  
  
"Sarah," said Roger. "I was thinking, if it was all right with you, of course, that Sarah could come to the dance with us."  
  
Felicity had to fain a surprised look on her face. Ben grinned with delight at his success.  
  
"Why, Roger! That is a wonderful idea and so thoughtful of you. Let me go get Sarah," she gushed as she dashed from the room.  
  
"You see, what did I tell you, Master Williams?" Franklin said.  
  
Felicity, Miss Peters and some of the other girls had spent a good part of the afternoon talking Sarah into the idea of attending the dance with Roger and Felicity. She had rejected the idea at first, but had come around when Miss Peters had noted that there were always plenty of boys at the dance who did not have enough courage to ask a girl to go with them, but would likely be available as dance partners if she went. With that, Sarah had agreed, but only if it was truly Roger's idea and that Felicity and Miss Peters had not put him up to it. Miss Peters and Felicity had assured her that they had done no such thing. It was a lie and Felicity and Miss Peters knew it, but it was a white lie and justified under the circumstances.  
  
Felicity and Sarah now appeared in the Reception Room. Roger looked nervous.  
  
"Uh... Sarah," he stammered, "Felicity told me you didn't have a date to the dance, is that right?"  
  
Sarah nodded her head.  
  
"And I, I mean Felicity and I, were wondering if you would, ah, like to come with us?"  
  
"Why, Roger, what a nice thought; did you think of it on your own?" she quizzed.  
  
Sarah suspected that this had not been Roger's idea alone but had decided to let the matter drop. She would be going to the dance after all.  
  
"Mostly." Roger looked up at the picture of Franklin, who winked at him.  
  
"Well... I would love to come with you and Felicity," Sarah said. "Thank you both."  
  
Miss Peters came into the room and announced that it was time Roger should be returning to his dormitory. The girls said good-bye and went upstairs. As Roger was turning to leave, the picture of Ben Franklin offered yet more advice.  
  
"Don't forget to dance with both of them," he said. "And be sure to buy two flowers, one for each."  
  
Two flowers, thought Roger, this was going to be more expensive than he had figured. As he went out the door, Miss Peters stopped him.  
  
"Thank you, Roger," she said.  
  
"Two girls!" Steven said in surprise. "Roger, you dog you!" He punched his brother in the arm, which nearly caused him to fall onto his bed.  
  
In Franklin Hall, Roger had secured a reputation as thoughtful; over in Dickinson Hall, it was more that of a playboy. The week was hard on him. But he did manage to secure two flowers. Ben Franklin offered a wealth of advice on women. Roger figured it came from living among so many of them.  
  
Halloween was a major event at Salem Academy, which should come as no surprise. The dance was the highlight of the events. The Halloween Dance was one of the few occasions in the year when students at Salem might dress in something other that the school uniform. For the girls, in particular, this became important. The week before the dance great thought and care were put into just what one should wear.  
  
Sarah's mother had sent her a red velvet dress with a high neck and short sleeves.  
  
"It shows off your figure really well," Felicity told her, with a bit of envy in her voice for Sarah's figure. Felicity thought that there would be plenty of boys who would kick themselves for not asking Sarah to the dance when they saw her in that dress.  
  
As usual, Aunt Joan came to Felicity's rescue with a pale blue and white floor-length dress with chiffon. It sort of made Felicity look as if she were floating when she walked in it, the way the chiffon fluttered out behind her. She may not have had Sarah's figure, but, as Ben said, all that chiffon left plenty to a young man's imagination.  
  
The big day finally came. Sarah spent the good part of it worrying not only about her own appearance but Felicity's and just about all the other Entered class girls, as well.  
  
Roger came for them at seven. He was dressed in a dress shirt, blue blazer with dark blue pants and a blue and silver tie his grandfather had sent to him for the occasion. Just as Ben had instructed, he brought two white flowers. He paid each of the girls an appropriate compliment, another of Ben's suggestions. Roger did need to enlist the help of Mrs. Dow to get the flowers pinned onto the dresses securely. Felicity's dress, with its layers of chiffon, presented a particular challenge to Roger's trembling hands.  
  
Then Roger extended both arms and, with Felicity and Sarah each on one, escorted them to the dance.  
  
Several of the boys, there to pick up their dates, made remarks, but the withering looks they received from the girls made it clear that they would book no such talk about Roger, who by coming to Sarah's rescue had earned the undying admiration of even the Master class girls that night.  
  
The Fellowcraft class had done a great job of decorating the great hall and the statues, frescoes and gargoyles seemed in particularly good spirits.  
  
Roger followed Ben's instructions and made certain to dance with both girls. As the night went on, however, he danced mostly with Felicity as Sarah seemed to be doing more dancing with Peter How, one of the Entered class boys, who had not had the courage to ask a girl to go with him.  
  
The three of them had their picture taken and generally had a good time. At the end, Roger escorted the girls back to Franklin Hall, where Mr. and Mrs. Dow asked each couple how things went while offering them hot chocolate.  
  
Sarah thanked Roger and Felicity for letting her come with them and went upstairs.  
  
Felicity took Roger's hand, looked at him and said. "Thank you, Roger, I know it wasn't exactly as you had planned but it meant a lot to Sarah." Then she kissed him on the cheek; for once, it was Roger who did the blushing. "And it meant a lot to me, too, good night." She turned and went up the stairs.  
  
"Good work, son," said Ben. "You learned something here that no book or professor could ever teach you: How to be a true gentleman." 


	12. Chapter Eleven A most unusual wind

Chapter Eleven - A most unusual wind  
  
The days grew colder and shorter. Felicity stood at her window looking out at the dull slate-grey sky. The bright leaves of fall now lay like a carpet on the forest floor or blew wildly about in the courtyard below her. The snow line on the mountains to the west moved ever downward. Winter would be here soon.  
  
Felicity pulled on the cape her aunt had given her and tied the scarf from Miss Brattle around her neck. Her aunt had been right about Salem Academy's building getting cold in the winter. Despite Sarah's best efforts to keep the coal fire burning in the small iron stove, the room was uncomfortably cold.  
  
Sarah's mother had sent her several sweaters, which she wore in layers. They made Sarah look sort of plump and round.  
  
Felicity was thankful for the cape. She had discovered a note in the pocket from her Aunt Joan, which gave instructions in the useful things the cape could do. Most notable was the spell "caleo," which would cause the cape to heat up like an electric blanket.  
  
Sarah grabbed her scarf, as well. "Looks like snow," she said, looking out the window.  
  
At breakfast the two of them met up with Roger.  
  
"Is Franklin as cold as Dickinson is?" he complained.  
  
"Most likely," Felicity said, looking down at the bowl of oatmeal in front of her. The food at Salem wasn't bad, just always the same.  
  
"Say!" said Roger. "Do you want some maple syrup on that?"  
  
"They have maple syrup?" Sarah looked around at the other tables.  
  
"Here," Roger said, taking out his wand. He moved it over Felicity's bowl and said "Suavis acernus"; from the wand's end poured a thin stream of amber liquid. "Want some, Sarah?"  
  
"Sure!" Sarah said, placing her bowl under the stream of syrup.  
  
"Neat trick, Roger, where did you pick that up?" Felicity asked.  
  
"I found it in a book in the library."  
  
The library; Roger's remark reminded Felicity that she had told neither Sarah nor Roger about the clue she had thought of that day in the library.  
  
"Speaking of the library," Felicity pulled the note from her books. "I think I figured out part of this note." Felicity flattened it onto the table.  
  
"See where it says ÔGo to the rest of those who have gone before'? I think it's talking about the graveyard over at the church."  
  
"Why don't we go and ask Miss Brattle if that's what it means?" offered Sarah.  
  
"We can't do that," Roger said. "Don't you remember last week when Dr. Mather said that no one was to disturb her without seeing him first?"  
  
Roger was right; Dr. Mather had left strict instructions that no one, including the faculty, was to visit Miss Brattle without his permission. He had made it clear that there were going to be very few such requests granted. Felicity had thought this quite odd.  
  
"Let's go down to the cemetery and take a look around after supper," suggested Roger.  
  
They decided to do just that, though they did not really know what, if anything, they were going to be looking for.  
  
"We had better be going," Sarah said. "We'll be late for class."  
  
The three gatherered up their belongings and wrapped themselves up. It wasn't just the dormitories which were cold. Most of the school itself was poorly heated. "Builds character," Dr. Mather said. Roger noted that Dr. Mather had a fireplace in his office.  
  
As they walked by Dr. Mather's office, something about the three caught his attention. Those scarves, he thought. It had been many years but he still recognized the colors. "Wherever did those students come upon scarves like those?" he wondered.  
  
Felicity was bored.  
  
She sat in her sacred geometry class trying to pay attention to Mr. Higginson as best she could. Her mind, however, wandered away toward the strange note from Mss Brattle and the fact that she could no longer visit the old woman in the tower. The whole matter was taking on the qualities of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre.  
  
Mr. Higginson was trying to explain the movements of the earth in relation to the sun and the importance of particular days in that cycle. Over the heads of the students he had conjured a model of the sun, earth and the moon, which were now revolving about one another.  
  
Mary Jacobs had just finished explaining the summer solstice in more detail than was really needed when Mr. Higginson turned his attention to the equinoxes and to Felicity.  
  
"Miss Stockwell." His voice shook her from her day-dreaming and back to the class at hand. "Could you do us all the favor of explaining the fall and spring equinoxes, if you please."  
  
Mr. Higginson was holding out a long wooden pointer to Felicity.  
  
Felicity got up and pointed at the earth. It swung into position in front of her.  
  
"The equinoxes mark the start of fall and spring. On those days, day and night are the same."  
  
Sarah's head shot up from her notebook where she was writing. Her eyes were wide. "The same what?" she asked.  
  
"The same length," Mr. Higginson said. "Because the sun is over the equator, we have 12 hours of daylight and 12 of night." He went on.  
  
Felicity had caught Sarah's eyes and, by now, the two were looking closely at each other.  
  
"Is there anything else, Felicity?" Mr. Higginson asked.  
  
"No, no, that's all," Felicity stammered. She wondered if Sarah had the same idea she did. She went back to her seat and looked down at her notebook. Sarah's note appeared on the page before her.  
  
Felicity! The note, the first line, that's the day!  
  
Supper seemed to drag on forever that evening and it was nearly dark as Sarah, Felicity and Roger walked down the hill in front of the school. The dead leaves crunched under their feet and Sarah excitedly explained her theory on the meaning of the first line of Miss Brattle's note.  
  
"It says, ÔUpon the morning of the day when night is the same.' It can only mean the first day of spring," she said.  
  
"Or the first day of fall," Roger said.  
  
"But that can't be," Sarah continued, "because Miss Brattle gave us the note in October and the fall equinox had already happened."  
  
They came to the old church. It had a steeple that rose up from the trees. In the top, there was a set of windows on each of the four sides. The church faced east as most New England churches do. To the west of the church lay the old cemetery, surrounded by an iron fence.  
  
The three went around to the gate, which moved only with difficulty. It was a still night and cold. Small flakes began to appear in the air, fluttering down from the grey sky.  
  
"Snow," Felicity said.  
  
The cemetery dated to the town's founding and the old slate stones, with their carved images of weeping willows and clasped hands, were, as Sarah put it, "kinda creepy."  
  
The stones bore the names of the old Salem families: Bishop, Farms, Martin, How. At the back stood a stone building about eight by twelve feet. As they looked at it, a wind came up.  
  
The wind seemed to blow in from the east; it picked up the end of the scarves the three wore and whipped them wildly.  
  
"A most unusual wind," Roger said, looking at the two girls. "It moves our clothing but not the leaves on the ground or the branches."  
  
Felicity looked up at the trees overhead; they were still. Even the snow that fell did not move from its course. Only her scarf flew out from her toward the odd little building. All three looked at it closely. Carved above the granite door was the name "Burrough." The door was made of a great granite slab; on its face was carved a sun surrounded by a compass and a sextant. Under the sun were the numbers 3-1-9.  
  
"Felicity!" Sarah sounded excited. "Look at your scarf!"  
  
Felicity and Roger looked at the scarves still fluttering in the wind. Each scarf was now glowing in the pale light. Roger's silver and blue scarf gave off a soft silver glow; Sarah's yellow and black, a light yellow; and Felicity's glowed brightly with gold and scarlet.  
  
"There is something about that building," Roger said. "I think we need to know who the Burroughs were."  
  
"I think you're right," Felicity said; and, with that, the wind ended just as quickly as it had begun. 


	13. Chapter Twelve The widow's son

Chapter Twelve - The widow's son  
  
"How was your Christmas vacation?" Roger plopped down in a chair next to Felicity.  
  
"Fine," Felicity said, somewhat distracted by her reading.  
  
"Whatcha got there?" Roger lifted the cover of the book Felicity was reading. It was The Burroughs of Massachusetts and Maine. "So what do we know about those people?"  
  
"Not much yet," Felicity said in a rather annoyed voice to Roger. "I'd know more if I could read the book."  
  
"Sorry," said Roger, who got up to go talk to Sarah on the other side of the reception room. She was working on her algebra.  
  
Felicity had found the book in the small bookshop near Gringotts in Providence and had bought it with money her grandfather had given her for Christmas. Her parents had found it a curious choice for a 13-year-old to choose as a gift.  
  
"I don't believe we are even related to any Burroughs," her mother had said. "There are none on my side of the family. Are there on yours, Martin?"  
  
Martin Stockwell had shaken his head no.  
  
What the book told her about the Burroughs was that George Burroughs was the only minister indicted and executed in Salem in 1692. He had served as minister of Salem Village and was one of a succession of ministers who had left the village in the years before the trials.  
  
He was charged, arrested and brought back to Salem from Wells, Maine, where he had been living.  
  
Many members of the Salem Village and Andover testified against him. They had called him the "ring leader" of the witches, and a priest of the devil.  
  
Cotton Mather, a minister from Boston who had, in many ways, instigated the hysteria in Salem Village, had taken a particular interest because of Burroughs' unorthodox religious beliefs and practices.  
  
Burroughs was found guilty and executed on August 19, 1692. His hanging was the only one attended by Cotton Mather, who had urged the crowd against him.  
  
Felicity had wondered if Cotton Mather was any relation to the headmaster. If so, it would have explained why he might have been trying to keep people away from Miss Brattle. The book had given some insight to Miss Brattle's family, as well.  
  
One of the few critics of the events in Salem had been Thomas Brattle of Boston. Felicity recalled a painting of Thomas Brattle hanging over the fireplace in Miss Brattle's tower apartment.  
  
But all this happened so long ago. Surely the families were still not holding a grudge after all these centuries? Then Felicity remembered something her aunt had told her last summer.  
  
That the first Lord Voldemort's family had been the cause of considerable trouble in the magical world and continued to be so, even to this day. Could Cotton Mather or Dr. Mather have any connection to Voldemort?  
  
It didn't seem very likely when she thought about it. Other than keeping her or anyone else from seeing Miss Brattle, who might be ill for all Felicity knew, Dr. Mather had not acted in the least bit sinister.  
  
The book continued.  
  
Following his execution, Burroughs' widow and only son, Hiram, had taken the body and returned to Maine. Within a few months several hundred families from Salem had followed suit. They first found protection in Wells before moving far inland to what was then the uninhabited woods of northwestern Maine.  
  
Felicity looked out the window of the library. It was now mid-February and the snow lay in drifts across the fields and woods of Salem. In some ways, she thought, not much had changed here from the time the Burroughs and others had arrived.  
  
"Let's send her an owl," Sarah said, looking up from her books.  
  
"Who?" Felicity asked, startled out of her studies by the sudden suggestion from Sarah.  
  
"Miss Brattle." Sarah went on with her suggestion. "Dr. Mather said no one could visit her but he didn't say anything about not writing her."  
  
Felicity turned her chair to face Sarah. "Sarah, that is a wonderful idea."  
  
For weeks Felicity, Sarah and Roger had wondered about a whole group of questions. Each one had seemed to spawn more in their minds. Miss Brattle may have spoken in riddles but it was better than nothing; even Sarah agreed with that.  
  
Felicity wrote a short note to Roger telling him what they planned to do and asking him to meet them at Franklin Hall following their study hall that evening. When he arrived, the three sat a table at the far end of the room and composed their letter:  
  
Dear Miss Brattle,  
  
We hope you are well. We are sorry that we cannot visit you in person but, as you know, Dr. Mather will not permit it. We have a few questions we would like to ask, please.  
  
We went to the graveyard by the church last fall and noticed the Burroughs' graves seem important as our scarves seemed to point to them in the wind. Is this important?  
  
Are you any relation to Thomas Brattle?  
  
We also think that the spring equinox is important, as well; should we be there on that day?  
  
Thank you for your time.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Felicity Stockwell, Roger Williams and Sarah Goldstine.  
  
Felicity took the letter upstairs and sent Solomon on his way with it. A few days later, an owl flew down and perched on the window ledge at Franklin Hall 319. It carried Miss Brattle's reply.  
  
Dear Miss Stockwell, Mr. Williams and Miss Goldstine,  
  
Thank you for your letter. I'm sorry that I have been unable to meet with you. I fear that Dr. Mather had made that quite difficult. Those Slytherin boys are always up to no good.  
  
You three are quite clever, indeed.  
  
I am a descendant of Thomas Brattle.  
  
You are quite correct that the Burroughs are important. You must be at the Burroughs' grave at sunrise of the spring equinox, all three of you.  
  
Felicity, remember your motto from the Book of Keys.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Miss Eva Pratt Brattle  
  
"So that's it!" Roger exclaimed, as he looked at the letter. "When is the equinox?"  
  
Sarah pulled out a small paperback from the reserved shelf. It was The Farmers Almanac, published in Lewiston. "This should tell us," she said, flipping to the page for March.  
  
"Sunrise on March 20th is at 5:43 a.m. The 20th is on a Saturday. The equinox itself occurs at 6:49 a.m.," Sarah said.  
  
"No wonder you got an A in sacred geometry," Roger said.  
  
"So we should be at the Burroughs' grave before 5:43 on the 20th of March," Felicity repeated.  
  
The three agreed. They also decided to send Miss Brattle one more letter explaining what they were going to do.  
  
Miss Brattle, however, never replied. It was not because she did not wish to; it was because she had never received the letter at all.  
  
Dr. Foymal had seen Solomon flying towards Miss Brattle's window and had cast a spell on the bird, causing it to land at his window instead. He had read the short note and had passed it on to Dr. Mather.  
  
Dr. Mather had puzzled over the cryptic note and had briefly considered questioning the three students about the matter, but decided, instead, to keep an eye on them. It had not done him much good, for their actions seemed completely normal. The only thing out of the ordinary was the scarves that the three would wear on occasion. Wherever had three young American wizards acquired Hogwarts' house scarves?  
  
The bell on Sarah's alarm clock rattled to life.  
  
Felicity had not been able to sleep that night and now it was early morning of March 20th. Sarah reached over and fumbled for her glasses. Without them she was as blind as a bat. "Morning already," she said.  
  
"Yup," said Felicity, pulling on her skirt.  
  
The two girls got dressed as quickly as they could. Felicity tied her Gryffindor tie around her neck and tucked it into her sweater before heading down the back stairs and quietly out the door with Sarah.  
  
The air was cool and damp. Several days of thaw had caused mud season to come early to Maine and had made the ground soft and wet with the melting snow. Roger stood by the door.  
  
"Ready?" he asked softly.  
  
The girls nodded and the three of them headed down to road to the church. They would have walked across the fields in the front of the school but it was too wet for that. They did not say much as they walked along. The sky was just showing the light of dawn.  
  
They walked past the headmaster's house. It seemed dark, as if no one was awake. This assumption was wrong. Dr. Mather stood looking out the window as the three passed on the road. What were they up to, he wondered. Whatever it was, he decided, it couldn't be that much trouble; not at this early hour.  
  
He sat down at the table and began to read this morning's copy of the American Prophet, going over the latest exchange rate between wizarding money and that of the non-magical world.  
  
Felicity, Sarah and Roger entered the graveyard a few minutes early. They stood in front of the odd little building, examining the granite stone which made up its door. The sun was now up and rising higher in the sky. It was a little before six.  
  
Felicity shivered; she was not sure if it was due to the cool air or the surroundings.  
  
Dr. Mather shivered, too. For he had just looked at the date on his paper: March 20th. The equinox. Almost at once, the pieces of the puzzle snapped together in his mind. The note to Miss Brattle; the Gryffindor tie of Miss Stockwell; the scarves of the Hogwarts houses; and this date.  
  
He looked out the window, but the three students were nowhere to be seen. He grabbed his coat and broom and dashed out the door. At first he did not really know where he was headed, but, in an instant, he flew to the entrance of Dickinson Hall. He threw open the heavy front door and stormed up the stairs to Dr. Foymal's apartment, banging on the door with his fist.  
  
Mrs. Foymal answered, holding a baby in her arms. "Dr. Mather, what's wrong?" the startled woman asked.  
  
Dr. Mather pushed by her into the room. "Where's your husband?" he demanded.  
  
Mrs. Foymal blinked and then said, "In the bedroom."  
  
Dr. Mather said not a word, but went directly to the Foymals' bedroom. Mrs. Foymal could hear an excited conversation between the two. After a bit the two men came out. Dr. Foymal had put on clothing rather hastily. Each took a broom and went out the door.  
  
Mrs. Foymal watched as the two launched themselves from the courtyard and climbed into the morning sky. What on earth, she thought, was going on?  
  
At the graveyard a great deal was about to go on. The sun had risen to the point where it was just casting the long shadow of the church steeple across the graves.  
  
"319," Sarah said, looking at the carved letters. "Felicity, it's our room number!" She and Felicity took out their keys.  
  
Just as Sarah said it, a shaft of light passed through the windows of the church steeple and landed on the sun in the center of the stone door. It illuminated a small opening. Sarah stepped up to the door and looked at the slit.  
  
"It's a keyhole," Felicity said. "Sarah, try your key."  
  
Sarah slid her key into the opening and tried to turn it.  
  
"It won't work! Felicity, the motto; it must be your key."  
  
"You'd better hurry," Roger said with alarm in his voice. Drs. Mather and Foymal, who had climbed high into the sky, had spotted the three and were closing in on the group.  
  
Felicity stepped up and placed her key into the hole. At once the great stone dissolved away to nothing. A blinding white light enveloped the three. As it did Roger could hear Dr. Mather's voice behind them. "You there!" he shouted. As he did, Roger put his hand on each of the girls' backs and pushed them into the opening as he followed.  
  
The stone reappeared.  
  
Dr. Mather uttered something under his breath. "Come on!" he barked at Foymal. "We have to get going."  
  
"Where?" asked Dr. Foymal.  
  
"Salem, Salem, Massachusetts; and there is no time to lose," he said, rising into the air.  
  
"That will take hours even flying at top speed," Foymal protested, as he followed.  
  
Roger, Sarah and Felicity found themselves gently floating over a lawn in a town none of them recognized.  
  
"Where are we?" Roger whispered.  
  
They were near a harbor with boats gently rocking in the water. No one was about and the park seemed deserted.  
  
"Felicity!" Sarah said in a panicked voice. "Look at that!" Sarah pointed to a trash can next to them; on it was printed, "City of Salem, Massachusetts." Above this was an image of a witch on a broom.  
  
The irony of Salem, the one place in all of America where witches were prohibited from going, using a witch as a symbol was not lost on the three as they floated there.  
  
"We're not supposed to be here!" Sarah said, her eyes wide with fear.  
  
With that, Felicity started to float downward. As her feet touched the ground, a silvery rectangle appeared before her.  
  
She looked down and could see the figure of a young man, perhaps 17 or 18, dressed in colonial-era clothing, looking up at her.  
  
Roger and Sarah had now floated over so that each hovered on the sides.  
  
"The tweens," Felicity said.  
  
"What?" Roger was looking at the young man.  
  
Felicity knelt down and extended her hand.  
  
"Felicity!" Sarah looked as if she might pass out.  
  
The silvery material, which looked as if it should have been liquid, was not a liquid at all. Rather it was like the scales of an animal. It parted and Felicity was able to grasp the young man's right hand. She began to stand up. As she did so, the young man rose with her. Roger and Sarah, seeing that the man was quite a bit bigger than Falicity, braced him on either side.  
  
When he was fully erect, he stood before the three. Roger and Sarah slowly dropped to the ground now, as well. He was about Roger's height and appeared to be translucent in the early morning sun.  
  
After a moment he spoke.  
  
"I am Hiram Burroughs, the Widow's Son."  
  
Sarah gasped aloud.  
  
"And you are The Raisers," he said. "What was done is now undone."  
  
Felicity looked at him. "We're the Raisers?" she asked. "But how is that possible? There is nothing special about us."  
  
"You are the Raisers," Hiram said. "Sarah Goldstine, daughter of the Hebrews, whose people have suffered more than we. Your people found safety here in America when all about them was danger. You who were steadfast and loyal to your friends. Your ancestors are from the house of Hufflepuff. You are one of The Raisers."  
  
He then turned to Roger.  
  
"Roger Williams, descendent of the founder of Rhode Island and the Providence Plantations, where our people found refuge following the curse of the first Lord Voldemort. You give strength where it is needed and gentleness when it is wise, you are Ravenclaw. You are one of The Raisers."  
  
Finally, he looked at Felicity.  
  
"Felicity Stockwell, the child of light. The holder of the key. The one from two worlds. Only you could touch the ground of Salem and raise me from the tweens. For only you had come from both the magical and muggle worlds. Your mother may not be magical but she carried magic. nonetheless. You who are Gryffindor. You are the Raiser."  
  
The young man looked at the ground as a snake slipped among the leaves. "Slytherin", Hiram said, as it slid by. He turned and faced a number of other ghostly figures, which now stood in the park. "The first lord Voldemort's curse is broken," he announced. "Our people may return."  
  
"So mote it be," the assembled answered back.  
  
With that, the young man and the others lifted into the air and vanished. The blinding light again enveloped Felicity, Sarah and Roger, who, at once, found themselves standing before the great stone door of the small building. The keyhole had vanished and the warm sun shown down on them. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen Novus Vita

Chapter Thirteen - Novus Vita  
  
"Where's have you three been?" Steven Williams quizzed Roger, Felicity and Sarah as they came into the courtyard.  
  
"Out for a walk," Roger shot back at his brother.  
  
"Well, stick around, will you? Dr. Foymal says that he wants everyone on campus. He's called a schoolwide meeting for this evening," Steven instructed  
  
"He sounded so serious," Felicity said, to Roger as Steven walk away.  
  
"Yes he did," Roger said, watching his brother.  
  
"You don't suppose this has something to do with us, do you?" Sarah had on her worried look.  
  
Felicity thought it very well could but decided that it was better not to mention it to Sarah. If they were in trouble, they would find out soon enough.  
  
Felicity and Sarah took their usual seats in the Assemble Hall. As members of the Entered Class they sat on the back row lefthand side. They could see Roger one row down on the righthand side. They watched as the rest of the student body filed into the old room.  
  
The paintings of past headmasters looking down on the assembly seemed particularly fierce this evening. As is the case when any group is assembled without explanation. The room was alive with conversation and speculation as the cause of the unexpected meeting.  
  
Finally, the faculty came in from the side doors at the front of the room. Peter How leaned over to Sarah and Felicity and whispered, "It must be serious, look at them."  
  
The faculty did, indeed, have a serious look to them. Just then, Sarah poked Felicity in the ribs. "Look!" she said pointing to the front row of faculty. There, seated next to Dr. Foymal was a short older woman dressed in black. It was Miss Brattle.  
  
Dr. Foymal stood up at the rostrum. The room settled down.  
  
"Thank you," he said in a formal tone. "We have some sad news for you today. Your headmaster, Dr. Mather, has suffered a tragic accident and, as a result, is unable to continue his duties."  
  
A murmur went up from the assembly at this announcement. "An accident?" thought Felicity, but he had been at the graveyard only this morning. What could have happened to him, she wondered.  
  
"The school's Board of Visitors has asked the former headmistress, Miss Brattle, to assume her previous responsibilities until a new headmaster can be appointed." Foymal continued. Miss Brattle stood up next to Dr. Foymal. "Miss Brattle,"  
  
Miss Brattle took the rostrum, which she was all too familiar with. "I realize that this must come as a shock to you all. Let me assure you your classes and activities will continue as normal. I was the headmistress here for many years and I am confident Salem Academy can overcome this current difficulty."  
  
Miss Brattle's confidence seemed to settle the mood in the room soom.  
  
"Now before you leave for supper, there is one more thing," she added "Miss Stockwell, Miss Goldstine and Mr. Roger Williams, would you please come to the headmaster's office before supper? That is all."  
  
Felicity felt as if a hundred pair of eyes were trained on her. She glanced down at Roger who could only give a puzzled look. Steven Williams' look was a bit more stern.   
  
The meeting broke up with a buzz of conversation. Most dealt with what might have happened to Dr. Mather, but a good deal of it was also about the fate of the three students called to the headmaster's office.  
  
The trio walked to the office. It seemed like a much father walk than in fact it was. When the arrived they found the door closed Felicity knocked and Dr. Foymal opened the door. "Come in he siad."  
  
The office was large, with a fireplace at one end above which was a carving of the school seal. The walls were lined with book cases and school mementos. Old photographs hung on the wall. Felicity could see that some of them were moving pictures, much like the photographs in the American Prophet. Miss Brattle stood at the far end of a long table. Dr. Foymal walked over next to her.  
  
Miss Brattle spoke first.  
  
"You three are to be congragulated," she said with a smile. "For more than 300 years wizards and witches have attempted to break the curse that had fallen over Salem. Little did we realize that it would take the courage of youth and the gift of a muggl..." Miss Brattle caught herself, "the gift of a non-magical mother to free our people to return to Salem as they wished. I suppose we wizards and witches that come from pure magical family just assumed that it would be us that would be the Raisers."  
  
Dr. Foymal then spoke up.  
  
"There is, however, something we must discuss with you three." He had a serious look to him. "As you know there are those who did not wish to see this come to pass."  
  
"Like Dr. Mather?" Felicity asked quietly.  
  
"Yes, like Dr. Mather." Foymal answered "And the first lord's family. They may seek to discover who the Raisers are and you could be in danger should they ever learn that information. For this reason, you must keep your identities a secret to all but your parents.  
  
"Roger and Sarah, your parents already know given your fathers' positions in the Commissioner's Office.   
  
Felicity, we have sent a message by way of Roger's father to your parents. Understand, Felicity, that your mother is the only muggle who will ever know what has happened here today.  
  
"Do you three understand me fully."  
  
They nodded their heads in agreement.  
  
"Good then," Miss Brattle added. "And should you ever have any concerns about this, don't hesitate to come to either myself of Dr. Foymal. Now, off to supper with you."  
  
The last two months of school seemed to fly by for Felicity. She joined the track team, which did, indeed, have the chance to travel to muggle schools like Hebron and Governor Dummer Academies.   
  
Felicity carefully saved the copies of the American Prophet, which had stories of the lifting of the curse of Salem. There was considerable speculation in the press concerning the identy of the Raisers, but the Commissioner's Office rebuffed all requests for any such information, saying only that their identy needed to remain a secret.  
  
In what seemed like an instant, it wast the last day of school. The bright sun shown down on that warm spring day. A few days before graduation had sent Steven Williams and the other members of the Master Class on there way.   
  
Now Felicity, Roger and Sarah stood in the courtyard of the school, saying good bye to their friends of the year. Sarah was engrossed in a conversation with Peter How the two having spent much of the spring together it seemed.  
  
"Looks like you won't be needing me to escort Sarah to any more dances," Roger said to Felicity as they watched the two.  
  
Sarah can be a terrible flirt when she wants to be, thought Felicity.  
  
"What are you doing this summer?" Felicity asked Roger.  
  
"I'm going to visit my aunt and uncle on Peaks Island off of Portland, for a few weeks and then I'm going to be a counselor at scout camp." he said. "You?"  
  
"I think I'll read," Felicity said, with a faroff sound in her voice.  
  
"Sounds like you," Roger said with a smile.  
  
Roger's and Felicity's parents had given them permission to fly as far as Portland. Roger would then visit his uncle and Felicity would board the train from Providence. Sarah, despite the fact the she received a late model broom imported from England for her 14th birthday, could still not fly well and her family had agreed to drive up to Maine to pick her up.  
  
"Well, we'd better be going," Felicity said to Roger.  
  
"I'll see you next year, if not before," she said as she hugged Sarah.  
  
"Thank you Felicity, it has been amazing being your roommate," said Sarah with a warm smile. Peter looked a bit puzzled at this exchange, but dismissed it as a girl thing.  
  
"Ready?" asked Roger.  
  
Felicity nodded. With that, the two rose into the air high over the school. They turned and headed down the river, a great blue swath that cut through a countryside of a thousand shades of green.  
  
The two talked of their adventures, as the towns and villages of central Maine passed beneath them. The warm May breeze blew Felicity's hair behind her. Just what might have happened to Dr. Mather they wondered?  
  
At Bath, with its shipyard cranes poking into the air like mechanical beasts, they turned and headed down the coast. Puffy white clouds under them looking like cotton balls suspended in the air.  
  
The islands of Casco Bay came into view. Roger turned to Felicity. "I have something for you," he said, reaching ino the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a LaQuidd snitch and handed it to her. "It's the one from your game last fall. I thought you should have it."  
  
"Thank you, Roger," Felicity said. She was getting pink with a blush which Roger always thought was becoming on her.  
  
"Well, there's the island," Roger said. "I'll see you later this summer. " He waved and then darted down toward the emerald-colored island below.  
  
Felicity saw the silver line of the train coming into Portland from the south. She started making wide turns over the city.   
  
It seemed to Felicity that it was almost impossible that she was the same girl who had woken up that foggly morning at 23 Waybosset Street a year ago. So much had changed in her life between then and now. It was like the school's motto `New Life' she thought. She looked at the ball. In his exact handwriting, Roger had written:  
  
To Felicity,  
  
My girl from two worlds. Thank you for all of the adventures this year. I will never forget them, or you.  
  
Roger.  
  
Felicity felt that odd little feeling come over her once again, but this time, she thought, she knew what it might be.  
  
THE END 


End file.
